


The Darkness Inside

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Angst, Dark Stiles, Getting Together, Humiliation, Imprisonment, M/M, Magic, Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Pining Derek, Pining Stiles Stilinski, Possessed Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 00:40:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 51,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14726703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: The sheriff watched him for a moment, then he sighed and turned slightly. He reached out to open a cabinet door beside him, and pulled out a shelf. It was on a track, so it rolled out of the cabinet fairly easily, and held a small CCTV. Derek frowned and inched his chair to the side a little bit so he could get a better angle.He was looking at a teenager, or someone at least young enough to be the same age as Scott. He was sitting on a bed in what looked to be a larger room, the area he was in surrounded by four glass walls, with his legs crossed and head tilted.He was also staring directly into the camera, as if he knew someone was watching. A creepy smile slowly slid onto the teen’s face, and he held up one hand, wiggling his fingers in a slow, eery wave.Derek felt his mouth run dry. He didn’t know who this kid was, but he didn’t like him.“Who is that?” he asked quietly.“That,” said the sheriff, “is my son.”





	The Darkness Inside

**Author's Note:**

> I had no internet a few weeks ago for a weekend, and I got bored and spewed this out. 
> 
> **Additional tags at the end.**
> 
> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis

It had been years since Derek Hale had made his way back to Beacon Hills. After the death of his family, it had become too painful to even entertain the idea of returning. He and his sister Laura had packed up what little they had left, and moved away. Away from the memories, from the pain, from the destruction of their very beings.

He had sworn to himself, to his sister, that he would never go back. No matter what happened, no matter what came for him, he would never go back. As long as he had Laura, she was his home, and he needed nothing else.

For a long time, that had been true. Three years, they’d lived together in New York. They’d survived, made a home for themselves, lived one day at a time even when it was so hard it was almost unbearable. But they managed. They fought and clawed and crawled their way through each and every day, and after three years, they were finally okay.

They would probably never be good again, but they were okay. Derek could wake up in the morning, and he could breathe. It wasn’t as much of a struggle to get himself out of bed, go to school, go to work, do what he had to.

Things were okay. And maybe, with more time, things would finally one day be good.

Until the day things weren’t.

At nineteen, Derek was still focussed mostly on school, trying to get through his first year of university while helping Laura with a part-time job so they could afford the rent. New York wasn’t cheap, and while they had money, they were trying their best not to use it unless they needed it. They didn’t know where life would take them, and they had to be careful.

He was studying for a midterm when he got the call. Laura’s name flashed on his phone, and while he didn’t want to answer because it would ruin his focus, he’d learned long ago that it wasn’t wise to ignore a call from family.

So he’d answered. And she’d told him to run.

They met up at their pre-determined rendezvous point, and Laura only told him that Hunters had found them and they had to go.

He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t whine, or bitch, or grumble about it. She said they had to go, so they left. Climbed into the Camaro and drove off, leaving everything behind.

They were on the road for years, trying to settle down somewhere, trying to return to normal, but eventually the Hunters always found them. He didn’t know who they were. He didn’t think Laura knew, either. They weren’t Argents, but they were persistent. They had a vendetta against the Hale line, and neither of them knew why.

Four years after leaving New York, they had finally caught up.

Laura had died.

Derek had run.

The Camaro was too flashy, so he got rid of it. He grew out his beard, dyed his hair, did everything he could to make himself look different, but nothing seemed to work.

They always found him.

And then one day a year later, he’d found himself close to Beacon Hills. He hadn’t been there since he was sixteen, when he and Laura had left the place behind them. Now, eight years later, he didn’t want to return. It was the last place in the world he wanted to go.

But, as it turned out, it was also the last place in the world the Hunters wanted to go. Because something... _weird_  had happened in Beacon Hills while he’d been gone. Something had come to town, and never left.

People still lived there, but everyone knew it wasn’t safe. Everyone knew the Supernatural existed, and those who stayed only stayed because they didn’t have a choice. Because they had nowhere else to go.

Everyone was afraid of Beacon Hills.

And that meant it was the only place for Derek to go.

After eight years, after trying to move on from the agony of his old life, of trying to better himself, to heal. After eight years, he ended up right where he’d started, with Hunters on his tail, and only bad memories ahead.

* * *

Derek’s legs burned as he ran, dodging around trees and ducking branches. Leaves whipped at his skin, and he could feel rocks and twigs digging into his bare feet, but he didn’t care. He just kept running, in his beta shift, and eyes locked dead ahead.

He knew he was close. He could tell based on the urgency of those behind him that he was almost across the border. This property belonged to the Hales, but it stretched far outside Beacon Hills. He just needed to get over the border, and he knew that they would stop.

Their voices were pitched, the fear palpable in the air, and he pushed himself harder, being sure to keep trees at his back and moving through the foliage as best he could. He could hear the distinct _pfft_  sound of a silenced gunshot, and the occasional _twang_  of a bowstring releasing, but so far, nothing hit him.

He knew when he’d finally passed into Beacon Hills, because the footsteps behind him stopped, though the shots continued. He just kept running, making his way through the trees towards where his old house used to be. After a few minutes, the woods fell silent around him.

Well, silent of Hunters, anyway. Animals were still scurrying around, and he heard an owl somewhere in the distance, wings flapping before there was a loud crunch, suggesting it had located and devoured its dinner.

Derek slowed, exhaustion setting in, and allowed himself to wince at the various aches and pains he could feel. While being a Werewolf meant he healed quickly, his feet were still killing him and he knew he had various cuts that were just splitting open repeatedly since he hadn’t given them a break in a few hours.

When he broke through the trees and into the clearing where his old house used to be, he felt his chest constrict. It was still there, standing tall, a black, charred mess of wood and peeling paint. It looked like the second floor had collapsed inside, but the outside frame, while weathered and blackened, still kept most of the shape of his old childhood home.

He moved closer to it, the grass cool beneath his feet, and ran one hand along the porch railing leading up to the front door. His chest ached, and he wished so badly that he could turn back time. Go back to when things had been good and his family had been alive.

Something snapped behind him and he whipped around, shifting into his beta form and scanning the treeline. He was positive the Hunters hadn’t followed, but he also knew there was a danger in Beacon Hills. A danger that made people steer clear, even if he had no idea what it was.

A low growl met his ears and after a few seconds, brilliant red eyes shone through the darkness, moving closer.

Derek’s wolf told him to bare his neck, show submission, accept the Alpha’s authority. His instincts told him that would be a bad idea. He was in unfamiliar territory, with an Alpha he didn’t know bearing down on him, and Hunters just outside the border. He had to think of himself, first.

When the figure moved out of the trees and closer to the dilapidated house, Derek was startled to realize that it was a teenager. Or, someone young enough to _look_  like one, anyway. He didn’t look much younger than Derek, and while he knew it happened sometimes, the Alpha gene passing down when family members died, it hadn’t happened in his family. When his mother had died, he and Laura hadn’t felt anything. Either it had passed to someone else, a distant relative elsewhere, or it had just blinked out of existence.

“What are you doing here?” the Alpha asked, words slightly slurred from the fangs in his mouth.

“This is my house,” Derek snapped back, baring his teeth.

“Nobody has lived in that house for years. Not since it burned and took the Hales with it.”

Derek growled low in his throat. “Not all the Hales.”

“Scott,” a new voice said. This one was older, authoritative, and recognizable.

Frowning and trying to place it, his eyes shifted to the man walking through the trees behind the Alpha. He was wearing a police uniform, one hand resting on his holstered gun, and holding up a flashlight since he evidently couldn’t see in the dark. Derek winced when the light shone right in his face, and he heard a low breath.

“It can’t... Derek Hale?”

When the light lowered slightly so that it wasn’t shining _right_  in his eyes, Derek got a good look at the man, and realized why he recognized him. It was sheriff Stilinski. He’d brought Laura and Derek to the station after everything had happened. He’d been the one trying to help them with the lawyer and the wills and everything else that came with the death of their family.

He’d been the only person who truly seemed to care about what they had lost.

Derek knew that the sheriff and his father had known one another in high school, but they had never truly been close. Laura had thanked the sheriff through tears almost every time he came around to make sure they were doing okay, up until the time they packed up and left.

More movement happened in the trees and Derek tensed, backing up, feeling closed in. He could smell more people now that the wind had shifted in his direction and he crouched, not liking being threatened, but the sheriff held up both hands in a calming gesture.

“Hey. It’s okay. We’re okay here. Right Scott?”

“He’s in my territory,” the Alpha—Scott, evidently—said coldly.

“This is _my_  territory,” Derek snarled. “This is Hale land.”

“You abandoned it.”

“I had no choice!”

“Easy,” the sheriff snapped, both of them beginning to growl low in their throats, crouched and poised to attack one another. “Easy. We’re all on edge, let’s just take a minute to calm down. Derek? What do you know about the Hunters in the woods?”

“They want me dead,” he bit out, not wanting to admit the words, but trusting the sheriff much more than the Alpha.

“Why?”

“Why do Hunters want anything?” he snapped back.

He heard a snort from the trees and his eyes flashed in that direction. That had evidently been a mistake, because the sheriff took a step back and Scott was in front of him protectively, roaring threateningly in Derek’s direction.

“Killer,” someone in the trees said. “We should put him down.”

Derek had been running and alone for so long that he’d forgotten his eyes were blue.

He’d forgotten what it was like for others to know what that meant.

“We don’t kill without cause,” another voice said.

“Why are you here?” Scott asked, interrupting the argument beyond the trees.

“I had nowhere else to go,” Derek admitted coldly, then grit his teeth and added, “and because they say nobody comes to Beacon Hills.”

Scott and the sheriff shared a look at that. They obviously knew what he was talking about. They knew what dangers lurked in the shadows, and they knew exactly why people didn’t come to this place anymore.

Derek wanted to tell them he wasn’t looking for trouble. He hadn’t come to cause them any grief. He was just there so he could live his life, so he could escape from the Hunters coming after him. He didn’t care about the territory, not really. The wolf in him disagreed, insisted this usurper had come along and _stolen_  it, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to live a life without looking over his shoulder.

He wanted to say all these things, but the two he could see were looking at him the same way their kind always did when they saw his eyes.

And so he said nothing.

The sheriff and Alpha seemed to have a silent conversation, staring at one another for an exceptionally long time before Scott turned to look at Derek.

“Boyd and Malia will escort you to the station. If you try and run, if you hurt either of them, we’ll throw you back out beyond the border and the Hunters can have you.”

Derek clenched his jaw but nodded once in understanding.

Two individuals came from the trees, both of them silent. He knew which was which only because Malia was clearly a girl’s name. Her eyes flashed blue at him, and he couldn’t help but wonder why he was immediately a threat when she wasn’t. Then again, just like they didn’t know his story, he didn’t know hers, so he didn’t dwell on it. She’d likely proven her loyalty years ago.

The other was large and imposing, but he didn’t even touch Derek. He just flashed gold eyes at him once and stood a little behind him to his left, waiting for Derek to move. When he was sure he was meant to be following after the sheriff and the Alpha, he began to walk through the clearing and into the woods.

The girl, Malia, had one hand gripping his right arm tightly, and while he didn’t hear Boyd, he could sense him keeping close to his other side. When they finally exited the preserve, there was a road. A few police cruisers were parked with the lights on, as well as various cars and a motorbike.

The Alpha moved to the bike, pulling it off the kickstand and glaring at Derek.

“You try anything, and you’re gone.”

“I got it the first time,” Derek said, but Scott just glared at him suspiciously, started the motorbike, then turned and drove off.

The sheriff and one of his men waited for Derek to be settled into the back of the deputy’s car, Boyd going in with him, before they began to set off as well. Derek turned to look out the back window, seeing more people exiting the woods and heading to the various vehicles.

The pack wasn’t huge, but it was still a decent size. And it seemed to be full of a mishmash of Supers.

The deputy driving the car was definitely _something_ , but he wasn’t a Were. Derek wasn’t sure he’d ever smelled anything like him before. Even the girl, Malia, hadn’t smelled entirely like a Werewolf, but he knew she was of the Were strain. Some other kind of animal, then.

The guy beside him, though. _He_  was a Werewolf. And a strong one, if the easy way he’d climbed into the back with him was any indication. He seemed particularly loyal, so Derek assumed he was the Alpha’s second.

Derek turned to look out the window while they drove through town. The police lights weren’t on, and the siren was silent, but people were still watching the car he was in drive through the streets with nervous looks on their faces.

Things looked different. Not enough that it was like being in a completely different town, but just that little bit that showed the passage of time. The way things had changed in the place he’d grown up.

The people looked more weathered, more like they were ready for the next disaster. Hardened, he supposed. Most of the children looked scared, but it was an easy divide between those determined to live their lives as normal, and those terrified. It seemed to be between the ages of twelve and fifteen that the shift happened from terrified to determined.

Derek really wondered what had happened in his hometown to turn its people into soldiers.

* * *

When they arrived at the police station, Derek was put into an interrogation room, and a mountain ash barrier was erected to stop him from escaping. He wasn’t interested in escaping, he just wanted to know what he had to do to convince them he was just trying to live his life without being chased every two days.

They left him in there for a good hour by himself. He just picked various stones and glass out of his feet so they could finally heal properly, and then leaned back in his chair and dozed. He wasn’t here to cause trouble, and he figured if he showed them he didn’t resent them for being cautious, maybe they would believe that.

After the hour mark, the door opened and the sheriff broke the mountain ash line. The Alpha, Scott, entered the room and the barrier was replaced, the door shutting.

Now that he could see him in the harsh light of the fluorescent bulbs above them, Scott looked older than Derek had first thought. He was sure he wasn’t anywhere near his late twenties, but there was a weight to his shoulders and a hard set to his face that gave the impression he had been forced to grow up very quickly.

He sat in the chair across from Derek, eying every inch of his face, then folded his hands together.

“I’m Scott McCall. I’m the Alpha of this territory.”

“Derek Hale,” he replied, even though the other knew this.

“How old are you?” Scott asked.

Derek frowned at the question, but when the Alpha just kept staring at him expectantly, he acquiesced. “Twenty-four.”

“What was your mother’s name?”

Clenching his jaw, he bit out, “Talia Hale. Sisters, Laura and Cora. Father, Michael. Uncle, Peter.” He figured he’d get the whole family out of the way.

He knew what Scott was doing, and was proven correct when he continued to ask him questions such as his birthday, his old home address, what school he went to, various teachers’ names.

They were confirming he _was_ , in fact, Derek Hale. They needn’t have bothered, he still had his driver’s license and bank card in his wallet in his pocket. He supposed they weren’t willing to trust that, but he didn’t let it bother him.

After a nice long interrogation where all Scott did was ask questions about the most ridiculous things, he finally leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“Well, you certainly _sound_  like you’re Derek Hale. So tell me something, Hale. Why are you here?”

“It’s like I said, I had nowhere else to go.”

“Why were those Hunters chasing you?”

Derek balled his hands into fists, hidden with the way his arms were crossed, but he said, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know, or you won’t tell me?”

“I don’t know,” he snapped angrily. “They came for us, Laura and I. They came five years ago in New York, and they’ve been chasing us ever since.”

“Where is your sister?”

“She’s dead.” His voice didn’t come out as hard as he’d wanted it to. “They killed her. Last year.”

Scott watched him for a moment, then said, “I’m sorry.”

Derek said nothing to that. Being sorry wasn’t going to bring her back. It wasn’t going to fill the hole in his chest where she used to be, or the warmth in his spine that connected them. It was just a word, and it meant nothing.

“Why are your eyes blue?” Scott finally asked.

That wasn’t something Derek wanted to discuss. Especially not with an Alpha he’d just met, who treated him like a threat on his own fucking land. He didn’t want to share this story, he never even wanted to _think_  about it again, but if he wanted to stay, he knew he’d have to. And it chaffed. Really badly.

Gritting his teeth and letting out a slow breath, he struggled to control his temper and at least give cliffnotes, but another voice spoke from beyond the glass, Derek’s eyes shooting up and Scott tilting his head slightly to hear better.

_“They’ve always been blue. Haven’t they, Derek?”_

He recognized the voice. Vaguely. It was someone his mother used to speak to on a regular basis, but he couldn’t put a face to the voice. Couldn’t even put a name to it.

“From before the fire?” Scott asked, speaking to the unknown party, but his gaze remained on Derek.

_“A misunderstanding, I assure you. A mistake from his past. The guilt of a lost life.”_

Derek snarled, not liking how well-informed this person was, but Scott just watched him for a while longer, seeming to assess the words and how they made him feel about Derek.

“How old was he?”

_“Oh, thirteen or fourteen, I would say. Long ago. He isn’t a threat. At least, not any more than the one we already have.”_

Derek wondered if he meant the girl with the blue eyes. Malia. They said people never came to Beacon Hills anymore, but it seemed unlikely it would be because of one Were with blue eyes. Something in this town scared Supernaturals away, and it was so bad that even the humans who stayed knew about what was going on. They knew that Werewolves were real, that things existed and actually _did_  go bump in the night. It had been shared with an entire town, which meant whatever it was, it had to be terrifying.

Even the Hunters wouldn’t come near. Anything that scared Hunters to that degree was something to be feared.

“What have you heard?” Scott finally asked, forcing Derek to focus back on him as opposed to the hidden voice behind the glass. “About Beacon Hills.”

“That there’s something here,” Derek responded quietly. “Something dark and evil. Something that scares even the bravest of Hunters away from this place.”

“And you want to stay?”

“You stayed,” Derek countered.

That seemed to hit a nerve, because Scott’s face twitched and Derek could tell he was clenching his jaw. They were silent for a moment, then Scott stood and headed for the door. It opened and the sheriff broke the mountain ash line. Scott exited the room, but turned back to Derek.

“You can stay,” he said. “If you can stomach it. Don’t cause me and mine any problems, and you can stay.”

“Understood.”

Scott gave him another slow look, then turned and walked away. “Let’s see how long you last,” he said while heading down the corridor.

Derek didn’t like those words, and he noticed the full body flinch from the sheriff, but said nothing. The older man inhaled slowly, then exhaled and turned to Derek, motioning for him to stand.

“Come on, then. Let’s get you cleaned up and find you a place to stay for the night.”

“I have money,” he informed him, but he followed him from the room anyway and towards the back of the station.

“That’s good to hear, but you’re still not walking out of here looking like that.” He motioned Derek vaguely. “Parrish might have some clothes that’ll fit you.” He pushed a door open and walked through a locker room, stopping near the end where a set of stalls with no doors separated showers and gave some semblance of privacy. “Get cleaned up, I’ll find you something to wear.”

It had been a long time since Derek had felt safe enough to take a nice, long shower. He was undressed and under the spray so fast, he wasn’t entirely sure the sheriff had exited the room yet. He didn’t care. He just tilted his head back and let water cascade through his hair, down his face, along his shoulders. It was the most amazing feeling, and for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to relax.

The pain of losing Laura was still raw, but he didn’t have the energy to grieve for her. Not right now. So he just used whatever soap and shampoo had been left for use in the communal shower and cleaned himself off.

His skin was much darker than he thought it would be, having been on the run for so long, and out in the open for a majority of it. He hadn’t realized what he’d thought was dirt and grime had actually been his bronzed skin in some places.

He didn’t want to exit the shower once he’d cleaned off, content with just standing under the spray, but he knew people were waiting on him so he eventually turned it off and then found a towel left out for him. There were clothes and shoes beside it, presumably belonging to this Parrish person.

Derek dried off and dressed quickly, feeling more human and less animal than he had in a long time. When he stepped out of the bathroom, the same deputy from the car was waiting for him.

He offered a small smile, and said, “I’m glad the clothes fit.”

Parrish, then.

As if reading his mind, he held out a hand. “Jordan Parrish. Hellhound.”

“Derek,” he said, shaking it. Everyone knew who he was, by now, so it seemed redundant to provide his full name. “Never heard of a Hellhound.”

“Nobody had before me,” he said with a small smile. “Still not entirely sure of it all myself, but I do what I can to help out. Sheriff asked me to take you to his office when you were done.”

He led the way out, and Derek couldn’t help but notice people whispering and staring at him as he walked past the bullpen. They tried not to make it obvious, but he was a Werewolf, and he didn’t like being the centre of attention.

Most of them just seemed surprised that any of the Hales were still alive, let alone back in town. Derek figured people had just assumed he and Laura had gone off and _died_  somewhere.

He scowled at a particularly curious deputy and she spilled coffee down her front, cursing and scurrying away.

Facing forward when he heard a sharp knock, he stopped just short of walking into Parrish, who opened the sheriff’s door and then walked in with Derek in tow. The sheriff was sitting at his desk, a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose. He tossed them down and offered Derek a small smile.

“You look better. Could do with a shave and a haircut, but we can handle that tomorrow when the town’s awake.”

Derek didn’t know what time it was, and hadn’t assumed it was late until he caught sight of a clock on the far wall of the office. It was just past three in the morning.

“Hotels aren’t willing to take you, I’m afraid, so you can bunk with me tonight. We can find you somewhere more permanent tomorrow.”

Derek frowned. “Won’t take me?”

“Just because people know about the Supernatural doesn’t mean they like it,” the sheriff said with a sigh. “Don’t worry about it, people take time to warm up to your kind, but they get there eventually. Isaac’s popular with the ladies at the nursing home down the road, and most of the construction guys in town love Boyd. It comes with time.”

Derek didn’t care. He wasn’t going to be around people enough for it to matter. He just wanted a place to live in peace, and he’d figure out what to do for money later. He still had a lot of it left, so it would take a while before it ran out, considering he and Laura had barely touched their parents’ life insurance. He still had well over five million sitting in the bank.

“Boyd’ll drive you to my place. He’ll stick around in case you need anything.”

The sheriff took a set of keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Derek, who caught them on instinct. He tried not to let his surprise show on his face at how easily the man trusted a stranger with access to his home.

“I should be home around five, depends on how the rest of the night goes. You’re welcome to anything in the fridge and pantry, watch TV, whatever you want. But,” he said, his voice darkening, and he pointed his finger at him, “there is a room on the second floor. The door will be closed. When I get home, it better still be closed. Do _not_  go into that room, or you’ll be out of Beacon Hills so fast, you’ll get whiplash. Are we clear?”

Derek had never felt so intimidated by a human before. He just nodded his understanding and the sheriff nodded back, dropping his hand and motioning the door. “Boyd’s outside waiting for you. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Parrish clapped a hand onto Derek’s shoulder and turned him to lead him outside.

* * *

Boyd was very quiet, but polite. He introduced himself as Vernon Boyd, but said everyone called him Boyd. Derek said he could just call him Derek, and then they didn’t speak for the rest of the drive to the sheriff’s house.

Derek wasn’t sure what he’d expected when they pulled into the drive, but the house somehow seemed at odds with the intimidating and authoritative sheriff. And yet—also not. While he was a man of the law, and commanding, and someone to be feared, he was also clearly a kind and understanding person.

After all, he was letting Derek—a Werewolf with blue eyes that he didn’t even know—stay the night at his house. Sure, Boyd was there to supervise, but still. That was kind of amazing.

They climbed the porch steps in silence and Derek unlocked the door. When he stepped in, the house smelled almost musty. Kind of like nobody spent any real time there. There were traces of the sheriff, of course, but it was obvious he really only came home to sleep and shower. He didn’t seem to spend much time there.

When the front door closed behind them, Boyd moved past him into the kitchen and opened the fridge. He recoiled and shut it, then turned to Derek.

“Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Good, don’t open the fridge.”

Apparently something had died in there, if the way Boyd was acting was any indication.

Derek moved out of the way while the other headed up the stairs. It sounded like he was rooting through the hall closet and Derek took the opportunity to look around. There was a small powder room on the first floor across from the kitchen. A dining room led off into the living room, and there was a closed door that likely led to a basement of some kind. Another set of stairs by the living room led up to the second floor.

Walking further into the living room, since Derek was most likely going to spend the night on the couch, he saw some photos along the far wall. The sheriff was in most of them, but there were a few that held only a woman, and what seemed to be her son. Or the sheriff’s son, he supposed. They looked like a happy family, but Derek seemed to recall that the sheriff’s wife had passed away some time ago. Before the fire, by at least three years.

It explained why the house was so musty. If he remembered correctly, the son was only two or three years younger than Derek. He was probably off at university by now, since he’d be either twenty-one or twenty-two. It must make things lonely for the sheriff.

He heard a thump and a curse upstairs, and decided to see if Boyd needed any help. Climbing to the second floor, he found all the doors wide open, including the hall closet door Boyd was standing at.

All doors except one.

He stopped in front of it, frowning and cocking his head to see if he could hear anything from inside. It was silent, and when he inhaled, it seemed like no one had been there for a long while. Much longer than just a few months.

“What’s in there?” Derek asked.

He heard Boyd freeze in what he was doing, and when he turned to look at him, he both saw and smelled the sadness coming from him.

“That’s Stiles’ room,” he said quietly, returning to what he’d been doing. “No one goes in there.”

“Where is he?” Derek asked, looking back at the door.

Boyd didn’t answer, and Derek didn’t press. He just went to help him pull sheets out of the jam-packed closet. It was clear why he was struggling, because with their strength, they’d either rip the sheets or pull the whole shelf off the wall.

They managed to get a set out, along with a blanket and a spare pillow. Derek trudged back downstairs, despite Boyd insisting he could sleep in the guest room. He wasn’t interested in staying on the second level, the temptation of the forbidden door would be too great.

He instead settled down on the couch and heard Boyd moving around upstairs. Eventually, bedsprings creaked and he figured the other had taken the empty guest room since Derek hadn’t.

He snoozed for a few hours, waking with a start when the front door opened, but it was just the sheriff, who gave him an apologetic look before heading upstairs. Within minutes, the house was silent once more and Derek fell into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

Considering everyone kept talking about the dangers of Beacon Hills, Derek found the place to be pretty normal. People were hesitant around him for the first few days, and Boyd went with him everywhere as some kind of guard—whether he was guarding Derek or the people was still unclear—but after a while, most began to ignore his presence.

He found a cheap place out of the way on his third day there, a large loft in an abandoned building that nobody seemed to want to live in—the realtor said it was due to its proximity to the preserve, but Derek didn’t know what that had to do with anything.

The bottom few floors were more warehouse than anything else, and apparently the place was an old factory with the owner living on the top floor. It was perfect for Derek, and he just bought the whole building. He had the money, and he figured he could find a hobby to take up the bottom space.

Maybe he’d build a boat or something, he’d heard it was therapeutic.

Boyd helped him get some furniture, and was even kind enough to help clean the place up with him. Derek liked Boyd. He was a quiet giant, but when he spoke, he always had interesting things to say, and Derek felt like they were going to become fast friends.

“So what’s the Alpha like?” Derek asked while they were painting the kitchen on his fourth day in town. He hadn’t necessarily _wanted_  to paint it, but the old layer was peeling and it bothered him, so he figured he might as well do it now while the place was still mostly a mess.

“Scott?” Boyd asked, coating the roller in paint and then turning back to his own wall to apply a fresh coat. “He’s all right. I grew up with him, went to high school together. He used to be a lot more approachable, but after—well, he’s a little different now. But he’s good people. Cares about his pack. He’ll warm up to you, he just doesn’t like outsiders.”

“So everyone I saw that night,” Derek said with a frown, focussed on his own wall, “they’re all in his pack?”

“More or less. He doesn’t force anyone to join him, but people tend to rally behind him and next thing you know, you’re pack. He’s a True Alpha.”

Derek’s hand stopped and he turned to Boyd. The other was still painting away, like he hadn’t just dropped a huge bomb. It was more likely, being a bitten wolf, he just didn’t understand how rare that was.

“What?”

“Happened when he was eighteen. He got bit at fifteen, so he had a few years of bad news before he managed it.” Boyd turned to him and half-shrugged. “It’s old news here, happened a while ago.”

“How old is he?”

“Twenty-one.”

“Twenty-one?!”

This town was getting crazier and crazier. The man he’d seen sitting in the police station, interrogating him, looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. To find out he was only twenty-one was a little startling.

“What happened to him?” Derek asked, knowing it wasn’t his place, but still wanting some answers. “How did he end up like this?”

Boyd’s hand stilled for a moment, but only the briefest of moments. He let out a slow breath, and Derek thought he might actually answer, but then he just said, “We should get you a haircut. And a shave. You look like a caveman.”

That seemed to be the end of the conversation.

Derek had noticed a lot of people doing that with him since his arrival. It was like there was something they didn’t want to tell him, not yet. He assumed it had to do with the danger in the town, the thing that kept people far, far away, but he didn’t really understand _why_.

_Why_  wouldn’t anyone share it with him? Wouldn’t it be better for him to know what it was? _Whatever_  it was? Why did everyone get twitchy whenever the opportunity presented itself?

Derek tried not to dwell on it too much, but it was hard sometimes. The occasional conversations he had with Boyd always seemed to derail whenever they got too close to whatever big secret the town had.

He didn’t really talk to anyone else, but whenever he happened to bump into another member of the pack—some he recognized by smell, others just came up and introduced themselves—no one would talk about it. They never lied, they just steered the conversation in another direction.

After a week, Derek stopped asking. He just figured whatever it was, they’d tell him when he needed to know.

If they ever told him at all.

So, he just tried his best to get settled in. He did end up getting his hair cut, and a shave, and when he next saw the sheriff, the man beamed at him like he’d given him the greatest gift in the world. It occurred to him that the sheriff and his father had once been something akin to friends, and he supposed maybe to him, Derek looked enough like the man he knew that it was a small comfort to having lost him.

He wanted to keep to himself, for the most part, but since Boyd tended to hang around him more often than not, a lot of people showed up at his new loft to just watch TV and hang out. Derek wished they wouldn’t, but it was something he felt he’d have to get used to.

Scott never came by, but Isaac Lahey and Erica Reyes were over almost as often as Boyd was. They were all right, he supposed, and they gave him a lot of details about the pack as a whole. He felt like he knew everyone in it by the end of his second week, and had actually met a majority of them, though not all.

Two members of the pack were Hunters, which didn’t sit well with Derek, and also explained why they’d made themselves scarce since his arrival given he later found out they were Argents.

Chris Argent, to be precise, and his daughter, Allison. The brother of the woman who had murdered his family.

Isaac promised they were good people, which he obviously believed given Allison used to date Scott, and was currently dating Isaac, but Derek wouldn’t trust an Argent further than he could throw them. And given their proclivity for carrying wolfsbane, he doubted he could throw them very far.

And so, they stayed away, which suited him just fine.

It was during his third week that something weird happened. Boyd got a call while they were having dinner, the other wolf having taken to spending the night on Derek’s couch more often than not—something which Erica complained about _at length_ given they owned an apartment together.

The second he’d answered the phone, he’d gone tense. Derek hadn’t listened in, knowing Boyd was the closest thing he had to a friend, but it was hard to resist the temptation.

“How?” Boyd asked, getting to his feet and grabbing his jacket. “Is he okay?” A brief answer, a sigh of relief, and then, “I’m on my way.” He paused at the door, then turned to Derek. “Are you sure? Okay.” He hung up. “We need your help.”

Derek stood and grabbed his own jacket, pulling it on while following Boyd out the door.

“What’s going on?”

“We just need you for crowd control. We need to get everyone inside as quickly as possible. Just tell them all it’s a Code Black, they’ll know what it means.”

Derek had to resist the urge to ask what it meant, and also whether or not _he_  should be going inside. It was hard to fight the words back, but he managed.

They climbed into Boyd’s car, the other man dropping him off in the middle of town before peeling off. Derek saw police cars in the streets, officers using their radios to broadcast the Code Black warning.

Most people were hurrying indoors, disappearing into shops and restaurants, but some stragglers were too busy texting or listening to music to pay attention. Derek hurried over to them and told them to get inside. One of them ignored him until he told them it was a Code Black, and he never knew someone could run so fast.

He ended up in a car with one of the other deputies, named Tara Graeme. She drove him through the streets until they found one that still had people lingering outside. Derek climbed out to tell them to get inside while Tara continued along to check other areas.

While he was walking past a store, he saw that there were TVs in the window, all of them broadcasting the same thing: Code Black.

Derek could honestly say he wasn’t scared of many things, but the reaction of the people to whatever this was concerned him a great deal. He jogged along the street, making sure everyone was inside, and saw many terrified faces looking out at him. He’d just turned around to head back the way he’d come when an explosion rocked the earth and he stumbled, catching himself at the last second and whipping around. He could see smoke billowing upwards from a few blocks over, as well as hear howls of rage, so he started in that direction.

Tara’s cruiser appeared beside him and she told him to get in, so he did. Instead of heading for the fight, she headed away from it. When he turned to her, she spoke before he could say anything.

“Trust me, just stay with me. If they can’t handle it, nobody is safe, and I’ll need you more than they will.”

Derek didn’t know what to say to this, so he just let her drive. They went through a few more neighbourhoods, being sure everyone was inside, and by the time they made it back to the station, almost an hour had passed.

Surprisingly, Tara waved Derek into the station with her, moving towards the back where a few deputies both in uniform and civilian clothing were crowded around a table with a map on it, a CB radio on the corner.

“How’re things going?” Tara asked when she arrived.

“Argent and Tate are both down,” another deputy said. “Yukimura’s trying to keep its attention, while her daughter and Alpha McCall work with the druid on containing it once more.”

“The sheriff?” Tara asked.

“Last we heard, he was with Dunbar. Kid got hit pretty bad, might not make it.”

“Shit.”

Derek only vaguely recognized the names, and had to dig deep for them. Argent meant either Chris or Allison. Tate was Malia, who he now knew was a Werecoyote. Yukimura was likely Noshiko Yukimura, a kitsune, and her daughter was Kira, also a kitsune. She was dating Scott, who they were obviously referencing as Alpha McCall.

The druid was Alan Deaton, who had been the disembodied voice during his interrogation. He didn’t remember much about him, only that he and his mother used to meet and talk every now and then. If he was a druid, though, that was good. Magic was good in situations like this, he thought.

Dunbar was another Werewolf, some kid named Liam. Barely out of high school, from what Derek understood. He hoped he was okay.

“Who’s doing this?” Derek asked, wanting some answers.

Everyone’s head shot up instantly, turning to him. It seemed most of them hadn’t realized he was there, and one of the deputies glared at him.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?”

“Relax, Haigh,” Tara snapped. “He’s with me. The sheriff called him for crowd control.”

“He’s a liability.”

“He’s a Werewolf,” the woman argued. “Leave him be, he isn’t hurting anyone, and if the others can’t contain it, you’ll sure as shit be happy to have a Werewolf in the building.”

Deputy Haigh grumbled under his breath, nonsensical words Derek didn’t even understand, but he said nothing more and they all stood around the table. They listened to reports coming in over the radio, marking a path on the map. They seemed to be getting more and more tense the closer whatever it was got to the edge of town, but Derek saw everyone visibly relax when the sheriff’s voice came over the radio.

_“This is Stilinski. It’s been contained. Repeat, it’s been contained. We’ll take it back to the cell. Call off the Code Black.”_

Everyone let out relieved sighs and a few people shook hands and clapped each other on the back. Tara let out a small breath beside Derek, then put her hand on his shoulder and said she’d drive him home. He went with her, no questions asked.

She drove him back to the loft, and he saw that Boyd’s car was still missing. He hoped he was okay, he hadn’t heard anything about him over the radio. Tara stopped the car where Boyd usually parked his and Derek pushed open the door.

Before climbing out, he turned back to her and said, “It was the thing, right? That thing everyone is scared of. That no one will tell me about.”

She let out a small sigh, and it looked like it pained her when she answered, “Yes. It was.”

“What _is_  it?” he asked.

“He’ll tell you when he wants you to know.”

Derek didn’t know if ‘he’ meant Scott, or the sheriff.

“I promise,” Tara said, offering him a small, sad smile. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Derek _did_  find out. And not at all how he’d expected to.

* * *

“Are you still looking for a job?” Boyd asked him almost two months later.

They were lounging on Derek’s couch watching _Guardians of the Galaxy_ , eating hot dogs and drinking pop. Boyd didn’t hang around as much as he used to, but they were turning out to be good friends so he still came by more often than not. Derek appreciated that Scott obviously trusted him a bit more, since he knew Boyd was his second and listened to everything he said.

There hadn’t been any more events involving a “Code Black” in the past two months, but people still hadn’t told him what any of that meant. He tried to be patient, but it was quickly running thin. But, Boyd was his only friend, so he tried not to say anything to him about it. Mostly to the others, who’d started avoiding him, which suited him just fine.

“I am,” Derek agreed, because nobody would hire him. Apparently being a Werewolf with blue eyes in a town where people knew what that meant had made them all too nervous to let him work for them. He’d been applying to places for weeks and nobody would give him a chance.

He wasn’t entirely opposed to doing nothing but rebuild the old Hale house in his spare time, but he knew his money wouldn’t last him forever. He wasn’t a big spender by any means, but he would still eventually run out.

“We might have a job for you,” Boyd said carefully, eyes on Derek. “If you’re up for it.”

Derek frowned, unsure of how to take that. He agreed to hear about it, given Boyd’s caution, but didn’t accept it right away. Boyd said it wasn’t his job to give, but that if he was interested in knowing more, he could meet the sheriff at the station the following morning around nine.

They spent the rest of the evening watching Marvel movies until Boyd left, and then Derek lay awake in bed for hours trying to figure out what could possibly garner such a reaction from Boyd.

He tried to get some sleep, since he wasn’t sure what was coming, but probably only got about two hours by the time he got up the next morning to head to the station. Tara was at the front desk, and she smiled and motioned the sheriff’s office with a nod of her head.

Moving towards it, he knocked on the open door and the man looked up, removing his reading glasses and dropping the papers he’d been reviewing.

“Derek. Welcome. Please, sit.” He motioned the seat across the desk and Derek sat down awkwardly, wondering what kind of job he was there for. “How are you settling in?”

“All right,” he responded, wishing they could skip the small talk.

“Boyd tells me you’ve been having trouble finding a job.” The sheriff looked sympathetic when he said it, sighing and rubbing one hand across the back of his neck. “Unfortunately, you’re no different than Malia. It took her almost a year to find anyone who would even take her on, and more than three before she was accepted into a job she actually wanted.”

“It’s the eyes,” Derek said, knowing that was why, because he’d already been told as much.

“You’re a good kid, Derek,” the sheriff said, offering him a tired smile. “It’ll take time for others to see that, but I’m a pretty good judge of character. I want to give you a job.”

“At the station?” Derek asked, a little surprised. While he knew himself he was a good person, it seemed a little weird that he would offer him a job in law enforcement without any background checks or police training. Being a Werewolf didn’t exactly make him a stellar officer off the bat.

“No, not at the station.” The sheriff hesitated. “You can say no once I’ve shown you, but I feel like this would be a good job for you. It’s away from people, which you seem to like, and it’ll allow you to read and do whatever other projects you like while you’re there.”

“While I’m where?” Derek asked cautiously.

The sheriff watched him for a moment, then he sighed and turned slightly. He reached out to open a cabinet door beside him, and pulled out a shelf. It was on a track, so it rolled out of the cabinet fairly easily, and held a small CCTV. Derek frowned and inched his chair to the side a little bit so he could get a better angle.

He was looking at a teenager, or someone at least young enough to be the same age as Scott. He was sitting on a bed in what looked to be a larger room, the area he was in surrounded by four glass walls, with his legs crossed and head tilted.

He was also staring directly into the camera, as if he knew someone was watching. A creepy smile slowly slid onto the teen’s face, and he held up one hand, wiggling his fingers in a slow, eery wave.

Derek felt his mouth run dry. He didn’t know who this kid was, but he didn’t like him.

“Who is that?” he asked quietly.

“That,” said the sheriff, “is my son.”

Green eyes shot back to the older man, but he hadn’t taken his gaze away from the screen. He looked older in this moment, somehow. Tired, worn, defeated.

“What’s left of him, anyway,” he said sadly.

“Why is he locked up?” Derek asked cautiously.

“You know how people are afraid to come to Beacon Hills?” The sheriff turned to Derek, the other nodding. “This is why.”

“Because of your son,” he said slowly.

“Because of what he’s become.”

“And what exactly _has_  he become?”

The sheriff turned back to the screen. “Something else.”

The shelf was pushed back into the cabinet and the door was shut. The sheriff groaned while he got to his feet, paused, then said, “Walk with me.”

Derek obeyed, getting to his feet and following the sheriff out. They headed through the station and out into the cool morning air. When the older man motioned his cruiser, Derek obediently took the passenger seat, the sheriff climbing in behind the wheel and setting off towards the preserve.

That explained why people were scared to buy the loft Derek now lived in.

“Beacon Hills has always been a hotbed of Supernatural occurrences. Your family wasn’t the first to appear in town, and they won’t be the last. As far as Alan has told us, the reason for the activity we’ve seen over the past hundred years is because of what he calls the Nemeton.”

“I’ve heard of it,” Derek said with a small nod. “A power source. It pulls energy. Good energy.”

“And bad energy,” the sheriff said quietly. “A lot of stuff has changed since you were last in Beacon Hills. Alpha packs and Beserkers and Chimeras. We had a lot of attacks, a lot of things to keep from the public, but we always managed it. When Scott became a Werewolf, he and my son Stiles,” his voice broke on the name and Derek pretended not to notice, “they always went out to stop the bad things that were coming. Everything was being pulled towards us by the Nemeton.”

“And it pulled something dark?” Derek guessed.

“More or less.” The sheriff smiled wryly. “There was a Darach a few years back. A dark Druid,” he clarified when Derek frowned. “It came and started causing problems, killing people, trying to perform a ritual. One of the rituals involved killing Guardians and, as it turned out, that involved myself, Scott’s mother and Allison’s father. In order to stop us from becoming the final pieces of the ritual, the three of them performed a ritual of their own to find us. The consequences were... well, not to be dramatic, but, dire.”

Derek saw the man’s hands tightening on the steering wheel. He glanced back out the window, seeing they were driving further into the preserve than even his old house used to be.

“It affected the three of them differently, but they all healed in time. What we didn’t know was that a dark spirit had come, called by the Nemeton, and it had three very open minds to choose from. Scott was a Werewolf, so it immediately disqualified him. Allison and Stiles were the other two options, and while we still don’t know why, it decided to choose Stiles.” Derek could smell the hatred in the car. It was so thick it almost choked him. “It’s called the Nogitsune. A dark fox spirit that feeds off chaos and strife. Off pain and fear.”

“How old was he?” Derek asked quietly.

“Sixteen.”

If he and Scott were friends, it meant it had happened five years ago. This thing had taken over the sheriff’s son, and five years later, he still hadn’t found a way to get it out.

“Stiles is Code Black,” the sheriff said quietly, the car coming to a stop.

Derek turned and saw a small outpost in front of him. It didn’t look like much, just a small brick building, but the room he’d seen on the screen had looked a lot more high tech, so he could only assume this was the entrance, and the real prison was underground.

“I thought the goal was to leave Beacon Hills,” Derek said, realizing where they were. “Why wouldn’t it have run _away_  from town when it got out last?”

“Because it’s weak most of the time,” the sheriff said, staring at the outpost. “We have wards up around the entire town to stop it from escaping, but when it feeds, it builds up its strength, and can push past the wards. It needs the fear and chaos it elicits to strengthen itself. It has no choice but to head for town first before it can leave. We’ve made sure of that.”

“And the people in town?” Derek asked quietly. “How come they never...” He didn’t know how to ask the question. Logically speaking, killing the host would mean destroying the spirit inside, or at least forcing it to relocate and find another host elsewhere. It wasn’t like there were a lot of open minds for it to latch onto, it would have to leave Beacon Hills.

“When we finally caught it,” the sheriff said, still not making any move to exit the car, “there was a lot of talk about killing Stiles. Most of the town knew by then that the Supernatural world existed. It was impossible to keep it from them, given what had happened. People wanted to kill him, convinced it would kill the thing inside him. A few of us didn’t. Alan ended up being the catalyst, and to this day, I don’t know if he was telling the truth, or if he just did it because of Scott.”

“The Druid,” Derek confirmed, and the sheriff nodded.

“He told the town that the Nogitsune had tied itself to Stiles, and that killing the host would only make it stronger. It would kill Stiles’ body, but not the evil within him. It was best to contain it, to research how to separate them, and go from there. People didn’t like it, but a lot of them agreed to it because they noticed that things seemed to be going better in town. No weird large dogs attacking people. No giant bone-men coming down the street and uprooting trees. No crazy kamikaze birds intent on killing anyone who neared them.”

“People are scared of it,” Derek said. “But so are monsters.”

The sheriff nodded, the two of them staring at the outpost. “Eventually, people accepted it. Those who couldn’t left town, but the rest decided that the occasional escapes were worth the months of peace. It doesn’t get out much, anyway. Only when someone does something stupid.”

It was then that Derek realized what the job he was quasi-applying for entailed. What he was doing there. Why the sheriff had finally told him about what everyone was so afraid of in Beacon Hills.

“You want me to be a guard,” Derek said, turning to him, completely floored. “You actually want me to guard it and make sure it stays where it’s meant to be.”

“We’ve been rotating out the past few years,” the sheriff admitted, looking tired once more. “All the Supernatural beings we have in town have been spending a few days here every month. Boyd’s been getting off lightly lately because of your arrival, but usually we all spend time here, watching it. Making sure it doesn’t get out. Isaac was on duty the last time it got out. The Nogitsune got into his head, made him angry. Isaac lost his temper and when you do that, it’s over. The Nogitsune escaped, and it took us almost four hours to get it back under control and into its cell.” The sheriff turned to Derek, letting out a slow breath. “You seem like a level-headed person.”

“My sister would disagree.”

“You’ve been impressive since your arrival. You remind me a lot of Boyd, actually.”

Derek just kept staring at the door ahead of them, wondering if he was actually stupid enough to do this.

“You want me to be this thing’s guard. Stay with it, watch it, keep it locked up and weak in its cell.”

“You’ll have days off,” the sheriff insisted. “But for the most part, you’d be living here, yes. It’s fully equipped down below, and we’ll have groceries delivered. It’s kind of like its own underground bunker.”

“Except with a highly dangerous prisoner for a roommate.”

The sheriff sighed. “We need a guard. And you need a job. Scott can’t keep asking the pack to do this in their free time, they have lives, too.”

The ‘but you don’t’ wasn’t said, but was implied. And it was true. Derek’s only friend in town was Boyd. He had no other friends, no family, no job barring this one if he chose to take it. Realistically, he was the optimal choice. And if he got to sit there and read for the whole day, he couldn’t say it was a bad deal. Except for the evil spirit he’d be sharing a space with.

“Tell me about him,” Derek said. “Before I meet him. What is he like?”

“Stiles or the Nogitsune?”

“Both.”

The sheriff sighed, and Derek listened while he told him about his son. He was smart, really smart, top of most of his classes in high school, always fighting to stay on top with Lydia Martin, whom Derek had met twice, and knew was a Banshee. He was a good person, loyal, kind, good with strategy, a little bit of a troublemaker, but only if nobody got hurt.

The Nogitsune was evil, and cunning, and destructive. It wanted to cause pain, and anguish. Wanted to feel people’s fear, see people’s panic, destroy the world one small step at a time and enjoy every minute of it. It was also smart, probably smarter than Stiles, or maybe just the same amount and using Stiles’ knowledge against him.

Derek listened while he spoke, and tried to imagine what it must be like to stare at his son and see a monster instead. How hard it must be for Scott to see his best friend turned into this.

It suddenly made sense now. Boyd had said Scott had changed, and now he understood why. Because he’d lost someone precious to him, even though he wasn’t really gone.

He may as well be.

“Show me,” Derek said. “I’ll decide once I’ve seen it.”

He already knew he would take the job. He didn’t have any other choice. But he still wanted to pretend he was thinking it over, if only so he could back out if the thing he came face to face with turned out to be more than he could handle.

The sheriff stepped out of the car first, Derek following. They approached the outpost and the sheriff swiped a keycard, and then typed in a code before the heavy metal door buzzed and he pulled it open. Derek didn’t want to think about how strong the Nogitsune was if it had escaped this place with a door this thick.

Even Werewolves wouldn’t be able to escape from here very easily.

Then again, he supposed if the thing was as cunning as everyone said, it probably hadn’t broken out, it had likely used its head to escape. Which made sense, since the door didn’t look damaged, and while the last escape had been two months ago, it still didn’t seem as though there had been even a dent made.

They descended a set of metal stairs, the sheriff speaking to him over his shoulder while they walked.

“Whatever you do, always keep your guard up, especially at the beginning. It’s going to try and get into your head, make you lose your cool, don’t let it. Keep your distance as much as possible, and whatever you do, no matter what happens, don’t ever, _ever_  open the cell door.” They stopped at the bottom, where another door stood, and the sheriff turned to him, staring him in the eyes. “No matter what it says, no matter what it does, no matter what you see or what’s happening in the cell, never, _ever_  open the cell door.”

Those words made him a little nervous, but he made sure not to show it. The sheriff was sweating and reeked of fear, so the last thing Derek wanted was to make him think he wasn’t up for this.

He was, he just... he had some doubts. Some concerns.

“What if it’s Stiles that I’m speaking to?” Derek asked.

“You can’t guarantee that.” The sheriff turned and typed in another code, then pressed his thumb to a pad. The door clicked, but he didn’t open it yet.

“What do you mean?” Derek asked.

“It lies.” The sheriff turned to him again, keeping eye contact, as if to stress the severity of the situation. “Stiles and the Nogitsune have been together so long that it knows everything about him. How he thinks, how he speaks, how he acts. It’ll use that to its advantage to trick you. Don’t let it.”

Derek frowned, the sheriff reaching for the handle. “So when I’m speaking to him, how do I know if it’s Stiles I’m talking to, or the thing possessing him?”

The sheriff pressed his lips together.

“You don’t.”

He opened the door.

* * *

Derek wished the first thing he’d noticed was the actual room itself, because it was massive and extremely impressive. It looked like it had been built by a faction of the military, complete with high tech gadgets, a kitchen, a really comfortable looking bed—considering—a bathroom—complete with toilet, sink and shower—and a small area in the far corner for a TV, couch, and a few chairs.

In the middle of the large open space was a large glass box. Well, it was likely reinforced plastic, some kind of plexiglass, because glass would be a terrible idea, but it took up a majority of the space and stretched from floor to ceiling. Inside the box was a bed, a desk, a small table with a chair, and another smaller room within that housed a toilet, sink and shower behind a second transparent wall.

No privacy whatsoever.

Derek didn’t catch any of those details until _after_  the first few minutes he’d arrived. Because the second he walked through the door, he was assaulted with the stench of fear and pain, and the kid inside the glass prison was sobbing and banging on the wall.

_“Please!”_ the other screamed, banging harder, tears streaking down a terrified face. _“Please, they’re crazy! They’re **crazy**! You have to let me out! They’re **torturing**  me! They’ve lost their **fucking**  minds!”_

Derek almost took a step back in shock, the fear and panic and small spark of hope at release overwhelming. Those tears were real, that panic felt real, the desperation to escape seemed _real_. It was overpowering and Derek almost raced for the door of the cage to let the other out.

The only thing that stopped him was the memory from the office. Sitting in that chair, staring at the small screen, and seeing this same boy looking right at the camera and smiling maliciously while waving.

“You’re already doing better than most people,” the sheriff said, patting Derek’s shoulder and moving in past him. “How’s it been?”

“The usual,” Parrish said from the couch across the way. He had to walk around the outside of the large prison to come over to where they were at the door, but he kept his eyes on the boy inside.

Derek hadn’t yet taken his eyes off the thing pretending to be Stiles, because it was still screaming and begging to be let out, insisting they were hurting it, they were crazy, it had done nothing wrong, this was insane.

“It started _that_ ,” Parrish motioned the boy when he stopped beside them, “about two minutes ago.”

“It heard us coming, no doubt.” The sheriff moved up to the glass, standing right in front of the begging prisoner. “He hasn’t let you out yet. You’re not going to sway him. Drop the act.”

Derek felt chills race up and down his spine at what happened next.

The boy, who had been screaming and sobbing, banging on the window, stopped so abruptly that the room suddenly felt much too quiet. There was the hum of the lights overhead, the quiet sound of running machinery, like the fridge, and the background noise of whatever show Parrish had been watching on the other side of the room.

But the prisoner inside the cell had fallen silent, and Derek felt every instinct telling him to run clamouring for attention. This Nogitsune thing had stopped, and now a slow smile was sliding onto its face, both hands uncurling from fists and pressing flat against the window, forehead thunking lightly against it as well.

_“It was worth a try, wasn’t it? I do love the new meat, they’re always so **surprised**  to see what you’ve done to us.”_

“Derek,” the sheriff said, still standing inches away from the prison, “meet the Nogitsune.”

_“Derek.”_  The thing’s fingers began to drum an unknown beat against the glass before suddenly stilling. Its head shifted to the side ever so slightly, then back again, like a snake’s. Its eyes left the sheriff to stare at Derek over his shoulder, another cruel smile forming on its lips. _“Hale. One of two survivors. Oh.”_  It tsked. _“One survivor.”_

Derek’s hackles rose and he started to take a step, but Parrish’s hand fell onto his shoulder.

_“Struck a nerve?”_  The Nogitsune’s smile fell from its face. _“Good. Isn’t it unfair? You didn’t do anything wrong. You were just... living your life. Trying to be a good little wolfie. But those Hunters, oh those **Argents**. They took from you, didn’t they?” _

“Derek,” Parrish warned.

And he was right to warn him, because Derek could feel himself shifting. His gums itched, but his fangs didn’t drop. His eyes burned, and his claws came out, but he tried hard to hold the rest back. The sheriff had told him this was what the _thing_  did, and he’d thought he was ready.

He hadn’t expected it to hit him where it hurt right from the get-go.

He should have.

_“They still live here, you know.”_  The Nogitsune pushed away from the window, one hand sliding along the glass, tapping with its fingers. The sheriff watched it move back and forth, but it had eyes only for Derek. _“Two of them. It would be so **easy**  to get revenge. Take out the daughter, and you destroy the man. It’s so very hard losing a child. Ask the sheriff. He would know all about it.”_

That cruel smile was back, the thing’s head lolling to one side and eyes returning to the sheriff after a slow blink. It was eerie to watch, but the sheriff seemed unfazed.

“My son is still in there,” he said coldly. “And one day, I’ll get him back.”

_“Will you?”_ The Nogitsune’s smile widened. _“Are you quite certain?”_

Quick as it came, the smile left and the other’s eyes seemed to darken slightly. It blinked a few times, looking around, as if confused, then focussed on the sheriff once more.

_“Dad?”_ it asked, voice strained. _“Dad, what happened? What **happened**?”_

“You’re not my son,” the sheriff said, but his voice cracked, and Derek himself wasn’t so sure that the man believed his own words.

_“Dad, it’s me.”_ Two hands pressed flat against the glass, tears forming in the other’s eyes. _“Dad, it’s Stiles. Please. **Please**. It’s me, I swear. I **swear**.”_

There was a skip in the sheriff’s breath, and then he said, very quietly, “Stiles?”

“Sheriff,” Parrish warned, but he needn’t have bothered, because like a switch was flipped, the tears stopped and the cruel twist of its lips was back.

_“Always so hopeful. Always so eager to believe. Is that why you brought him?”_ Brown eyes shifted back to Derek, head tilted. _“Because he doesn’t know Stiles? Because it’s easier for him to be around us? After all, we can only hurt him with his own past. These tears mean nothing to him.”_

The monster brought one hand to its face, wiping a tear with its thumb before sucking on it.

The sheriff took another step forward, nose almost against the glass.

“You are _never_  getting out of here,” he hissed at the thing wearing his son’s face. “You are going to _rot_  in here until the day you _die_.”

The cruel smile was back. _“Oh no, sheriff. Until the day **he**  dies. I, on the other hand, will live on far, **far**  longer than that.”_

The sheriff gritted his teeth, then turned on his heel. He snapped at Parrish to get it out of his sight, and then stormed out of the room. Derek turned to the deputy, who just sighed but motioned him back out. Derek obeyed, and the door shut behind him, a lock whirring into place.

He followed the sheriff’s path back up the stairs, and when he exited the small outpost, shutting the door behind himself, he found the man pacing back and forth in front of his cruiser. His eyes looked moist, but he didn’t cry, and he radiated anger and regret.

Derek understood. After all, if it weren’t for him having gone missing, Stiles’ mind wouldn’t have opened enough to allow the monster in. Now he’d lost his son, and if they hadn’t freed him after five years, there was a high probability that they never would.

But he didn’t say this. He just moved a few steps closer and opened his mouth, but was cut off by the sound of a motorcycle approaching. He watched the road, waiting for it to appear, and eventually it crashed through the trees and skid to a halt beside the cruiser, Scott wrenching his helmet off and glaring angrily at Derek before rounding on the sheriff.

“You brought him here?! _Here_?!” he bellowed, forcing down the kickstand and climbing off his bike, throwing his helmet aside. “How could you do that without asking me?!”

“Not everything requires your permission,” the sheriff said coldly.

“I’m the Alpha!”

“He’s my son!” the sheriff shouted, pausing mid-step to round on him.

That seemed to stop whatever Scott had been planning on saying next, but he still looked ten different kinds of pissed off, crossing his arms and glaring at Derek. It was like he thought Derek was going to do something stupid.

Like let him out.

Or kill him.

Not a bad idea, but he didn’t have anywhere else to go, and somehow killing the sheriff’s son and Alpha’s best friend was probably a good way to die a slow, painful death, so he probably wouldn’t go that route.

“Well?” Scott demanded, pacing in front of them like a cornered animal.

“Well what?” Derek asked, crossing his arms.

“What are you going to do?” Scott asked, moving closer to Derek and flashing his eyes. “If you touch him, I swear to God—”

“I’ll take it.”

Scott frowned. “What?”

“The job.” Derek shifted his gaze away from Scott and towards the sheriff. “I’ll take it.”

“What job?” Scott was shifting more and more the longer they stood there, fangs descending, chops lengthening, face contorting. “What job?!”

“We need someone to watch it,” the sheriff said, making Scott turn to him. “Twenty-four hours a day. We can’t keep doing this, what’s been happening the past five years. We can’t. So Derek’s going to do it for us. We’ll pay him from the precinct’s budget, and he’ll watch the Nogitsune.”

“You’re trusting a stranger with _Stiles_?!” Scott demanded, turning back to Derek. “He could kill him!”

“Why would I kill him?” Derek asked with a scowl. “Something is possessing him. It’s a threat to the town, but it keeps others away. And I have nowhere to go, do you really think I’d be stupid enough to kill the sheriff’s son?”

That seemed to put a roadblock into Scott’s next argument because his mouth opened but nothing came out. Derek raised his eyebrows, waiting, but Scott just growled and turned to punch angrily at the closest tree. Bark exploded and the tree groaned ominously, but stayed standing.

He rounded back on Derek, flashing red eyes and pushing so much Alpha power into his voice that Derek subconsciously bared his neck.

“You touch him, you even _think_  about hurting him, and you’ll wish you’d never come back here. Understand?”

“I won’t hurt your friend,” Derek said.

“Good. Because you’ll regret it.” Scott turned back to the sheriff. “This better not be a mistake.”

“You better watch your tone,” the man warned.

Scott just shook his head and grabbed his helmet from where he’d thrown it. He yanked it back on, climbed onto his bike, kicked back the stand, and floored it out of there, kicking up dirt and leaves in his wake.

Derek looked over at the sheriff, who was watching him carefully.

“I’m trusting you with my son, Derek,” he said quietly. “I really hope that trust is not misplaced.”

Derek turned back to the metal door behind him and let out a small sigh. “Me too,” he admitted, then climbed back into the cruiser.

* * *

The sheriff gave him one day to think it over. Derek had already said he’d take the job, but apparently the man wanted him to really think about what he’d seen that day and get back to him in twenty-four hours. He said he wouldn’t officially announce his position to his men until Derek confirmed he was on board one-hundred percent. He _did_ , however, say that Derek could tell the pack.

“Not like Scott hasn’t already, anyway,” he’d said while patting Derek’s shoulder before exiting the cruiser.

When he got home, he called Boyd and asked him to come by, saying he wanted to talk about Stiles. When he opened his door a few minutes later, half the pack had decided to tag along with him, Scott included. He didn’t look happy about it, but Kira told him that nobody knew Stiles like Scott did and when he’d found out what Derek was up to, he’d grudgingly invited himself along.

Derek didn’t mind, as long as he didn’t give him attitude.

He didn’t have enough snack food to feed half the pack, but luckily some of them came prepared and his coffee table was quickly overrun with chips and various candies as well as some vegetables and hummus—courtesy of Lydia.

Derek didn’t even know where to start, but it turned out he didn’t have to. When everyone was settled in, Erica immediately asked if anyone remembered the time Stiles had walked into a wall checking out Lydia’s legs in her new dress.

Things kind of just progressed from there, with everyone telling various stories about Stiles, painting a picture of him for Derek to store in the back of his mind.

He didn’t _need_  to know anything about Stiles for this job, but a part of him felt like he _wanted_  to know him. He didn’t want to walk in there and only see the monster, he wanted to know about the person the monster had stolen from these people.

Stiles sounded like a good guy. It was obvious the more everyone talked about him that he was deeply missed. They all laughed and joked around while they talked about their old friend, but he could see the tightness in their smiles, the pain in their eyes, smell the sorrow in the air.

They missed him. They missed who he used to be. It was hard, by the end, to listen to them all, and he was grateful when Boyd finally called it a night and they all stood to leave.

All but one.

Derek didn’t have the energy for this, but he just waited while everyone filed out, the door closing behind the last of them until it was just him and Scott, the Alpha sitting in one of the plush seats and staring intently at Derek.

For a long while, they said nothing to one another. Derek stood across the loft by the kitchen, and Scott sat in the chair in the living room. They watched one another, as if silently sizing each other up.

“He knew,” Scott said quietly after more than two minutes of staring. “Stiles. He knew it was him. At least, I think he did.”

Derek frowned, not understanding, but before he had to prompt him, Scott continued.

“Things were... happening. To people we knew. They were getting hurt, people were being killed. We knew it was a new big bad, but we couldn’t— _I_  couldn’t figure it out.” He licked his lips, hands folded together. “Stiles came over one night, freaking out. He said he couldn’t remember anything from the past few hours, and he found weird stuff in his bag and dirt under his fingernails and just... he was panicking. He kept saying it was him, that every time someone got hurt he couldn’t remember where he was or what he was doing. He was so _adamant_...” Scott trailed off, letting out a soft exhale. “When we finally caught up with the thing terrorizing Beacon Hills, I couldn’t believe that he was right. It wasn’t Stiles, not really, but it was wearing his face. And the second the facade dropped, Stiles told me...” Scott grit his teeth, clenched his fists.

Derek watched him for a moment. He took in his reaction, thought of all the things he’d heard about Stiles today, thought of his father.

“He told you to kill him, didn’t he?” Derek asked quietly.

Scott didn’t look at him. He just glared at the floor and nodded.

“He didn’t want to hurt anyone else.”

Another nod.

Derek sighed, crossing his arms and watching Scott for a few seconds. “If you don’t want me to take the job, I won’t.”

Scott looked up then, expression grim but confusion in his scent. “What?”

“I get it.” Derek shrugged. “He’s like your brother. You care about him. You don’t want someone who doesn’t care about him to watch him. If you don’t want me to take it, I won’t. Not because you’re an Alpha, but because of what he means to you.” Derek felt his chest tighten at the words.

He knew what it meant to care for someone so much. And to lose them.

“I’m not happy about it,” Scott admitted, eying Derek. “But when I heard you’d called Boyd to get some insight on Stiles, I figured anyone who did that couldn’t be looking to hurt him.” Scott scratched the back of his head. “Besides, the sheriff’s right. The pack can’t keep doing guard duty with everything else we do on a regular basis. And as much as I hate it, the sheriff made a good point about you when he and I chatted.”

“Which was?” Derek asked, leaning sideways against the kitchen entrance, arms still crossed.

“You don’t know Stiles like we do,” he said quietly. “The Nogitsune can’t hurt you like it can us.”

It was the Nogitsune itself who had said those words to the sheriff earlier that day, and Derek couldn’t help but wonder if that was because it was right. Because Stiles in his head knew how the sheriff was thinking, and had accurately determined one of the main reasons Derek was the obvious choice.

He didn’t care.

That was what it boiled down to. Derek didn’t know Stiles, so he didn’t care. Not like the rest of them did.

Not like Scott and the sheriff did.

“There’s no saving him, is there?” Derek asked cautiously. “There’s no way to separate them.”

Scott let out a slow exhale through his nose, eyes on the floor once more, and after a moment, he slowly shook his head.

“We’ve tried everything,” he said after a brief silence. “Everything we could think of. Everything we could find. There’s no getting him back.”

“Does the sheriff know?”

Scott stood then. “It doesn’t matter. Stiles isn’t coming back, not like he was. The best we can do is find comfort in his imprisonment, knowing he can’t hurt anyone. Stiles just wanted to make sure he didn’t hurt anyone.”

Derek watched him head for the door, scowl on his face at how he’d so completely given up.

“Could be worse,” he said to his retreating back. “He could be dead.”

“Don’t you get it?” Scott snapped, turning to him after wrenching the door open. “He already is.”

He slammed the door shut behind him.

Derek listened to his angry footsteps descend the stairs.

Once he was sure he was gone, Derek picked up his phone and opened one of three contacts he had.

**[Derek]**  
Make the announcement.  
 **[Derek]**  
I’m taking the job.

* * *

The days leading up to his eventual almost permanent relocation to the bunker were a little odd for Derek. He woke up the morning after confirming he was taking the job to Parrish at his door with a list of things he could and could not bring. He also gave him a keycard, two pieces of paper with codes on them that he had to memorize, and took his prints so they could add him to the system.

Then they sat down and had a lengthy conversation about everything that was common knowledge about the Hales, and Parrish got to spend a good two hours pissing Derek off to the point where he wanted to physically hurt him.

“If you can’t handle it from me, you won’t manage it from him,” was all Parrish said every time Derek started losing his temper.

He knew it was true, but somehow having someone “practice” these conversations with him seemed so much worse than having a fucking evil spirit trying to get under his skin. Still, Derek just sat there and took it, frustration beginning to rise and more than a little pissed off.

Before he left, Parrish got a grocery list of food from Derek that he would want to have ready at the bunker, and then he headed out. Derek himself just stared down at the notes he’d been given, though a lot of them seemed pretty standard and self-explanatory.

_Don’t open the cell door, no matter what happens._   
_Don’t get too close to the cell when no one else is in the room._   
_Don’t verbally spar because that’s how the Nogitsune gets into people’s heads._   
_Don’t tell the Nogitsune ANYTHING about yourself._

There were also examples of things that the Nogitsune had done in the past to get people to open the cell door. One time, it had pretended to be having a seizure, complete with foaming at the mouth. Another time, it had physically injured itself by stabbing into its own stomach with a knife and trying to rip out its insides. That one sounded fun, and apparently was the reason the only utensil it was allowed was a plastic spoon, which meant most meals had to be cut up into small pieces.

Terrific.

There were a few comments about general day to day things, such as what the Nogitsune did to entertain itself, how often it showered, what it always tried to coax out of people—apparently it was _extremely_  interested in getting a stereo, which was the most logical reason _not_  to get it one.

It had access to water, along with Styrofoam cups, and it generally didn’t ask for food so it would be important for Derek to remember to feed it. He doubted that’d be a problem, given he’d probably just make food for the two of them at the same time.

There was also what was called ‘The Panic Button,’ capitalized. Apparently the cell only had one ventilation fan to circulate the air for it, and if something happened within the cell, The Panic Button would shut off the circulation and immediately release some form of gas infused with Kanima venom. Derek wasn’t sure what a Kanima was at first, but after a few hours of research, he determined it was some form of reptilian Supernatural being that had a paralysing venom. That meant anyone who hit The Panic Button would immediately release the toxin and it would paralyse the Nogitsune, along with knocking it out from lack of oxygen.

Derek didn’t know he was a fan of the ventilation being cut off, since suffocation seemed a little excessive, but the instructions were very clear that as soon as the vents closed, the Nogitsune had fifteen minutes of oxygen and by the time it started running out, the Kanima venom in the gas released would have dissipated and it would be safe to re-open the vents.

Still, Derek doubted he’d use it except in an emergency.

He also wasn’t a huge fan of the whole... being locked underground with only one exit and a very possible fire hazard given the stove. He understood, considering who he was guarding, but he still didn’t like it. If anything went wrong, it was just one door in and out.

He also learned that the doors in and out had codes, so even if he managed to get to the doors, if he forgot the codes, he wasn’t getting out and he and the Nogitsune would just die. Like his family.

Cheery thought.

He was trying to think back on everything he’d seen during his one visit, considering he didn’t recall any doors requiring a code to exit, however he remembered that they hadn’t closed the inner door when they’d gotten downstairs, and Derek had had to follow the sheriff out after the man stomped away. He’d probably opened the outer door before Derek reached him, and he just hadn’t noticed.

It took him a while to memorize the codes, because they were both long, and kind of all over the place. He supposed it made sense, since they needed them to be complicated, but considering the Nogitsune had broken out once—well, multiple times, but only once since Derek’s arrival—he wasn’t sure how important the codes truly were.

After two days, he started packing up as much as he could fit into the small suitcase Boyd had lent him. He was going to be living there more often than not, so he was going to be bringing as much as he needed with him, including entertainment, like books.

Thankfully, there was a TV, but he didn’t know how much was interesting nowadays. It had been a while since he’d sat down to really _watch_  it, but he figured he’d survive. After all, babysitting duty seemed like a pretty easy gig, except he wasn’t really babysitting, and the person he was watching was an evil, murdering spirit.

He kept forgetting why he’d agreed to take the job.

“All set, then?” Parrish asked the following morning, Derek tossing his suitcase into the trunk of the cruiser and slamming it shut.

“Guess so.”

“Did you want to walk to the outpost?” Parrish asked. Derek gave him a weird look at that and the man shrugged. “You’re not going to get much fresh air or sunlight. Might as well enjoy it while you can.”

It actually wasn’t a bad idea, and Derek turned to look out towards the forest before nodding slowly.

“Sure. I’ll do that.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

Derek nodded and watched Parrish climb into the cruiser and drive off. He waited until he couldn’t hear the rumble of his engine anymore, and then turned to head in the direction of the woods.

He hadn’t really thought about what living in the underground cell would mean for his freedom, but he supposed it made sense. One of the rules was that the Nogitsune was never, _ever_  to be left alone. That meant if Derek wanted to run up the stairs for a little vitamin D, he literally couldn’t.

Hopefully he wouldn’t end up feeling claustrophobic, though apparently that was something the Nogitsune tried to drive home, too. Overall, it just sounded like a stellar roommate, Derek couldn’t wait.

He was kind of glad to be able to do something, though. For the sheriff. Sure, it was a job, but he could see how hard it was for the man to go every now and then, see his son, only it wasn’t actually his son. Derek wondered if Stiles was still in there somewhere. If he actually _did_  come out every now and then, but no one ever believed it was him.

It was probably really lonely for him, if that was the case. Always trying to talk to people, only to be ignored or insulted because nobody believed he was _actually_  Stiles and not the Nogitsune.

Derek’s one and only encounter proved how easy it was for the spirit to fake it. The sheriff had believed that maybe, just _maybe_ , it had been his son speaking to him before they’d left. It was smart, really, if Derek thought about it. If the Nogitsune just spent a majority of its time pretending to be Stiles, it made it easier for it to ensure no one ever believed Stiles when he truly came to the forefront.

Now Derek was kind of depressed. He’d been alone for a long time, and it was hard and lonely. Stiles had his family and friends with him every day, but if they didn’t believe it was him, they probably shunned him. Made him feel like he was just a waste, an annoyance. Not on purpose, but because of what the Nogitsune had done to their perception of him.

Derek felt bad for him.

He’d been making good progress while pondering how horrible things must’ve been for Stiles over the years, and made it to the outpost in just under an hour. The cruiser was there, but Parrish was nowhere in sight. Derek figured he’d gone down with his things, so he just walked over to the door and stared at the keypad.

It was weird, realizing he was going to be underground with a homicidal spirit for a majority of the rest of his life—from the sounds of it—but he just let out a small breath and said, “You better not snore.”

Pulling out the keycard, he swiped it, and then typed in the code. When the door buzzed, he pulled it open and walked in. He turned to shut the door behind him, then descended the stairs to the second door, the dimmer light taking a few seconds to adjust to considering how bright it was outside.

When he reached the second door, he typed in the other code, and something beeped, a red light flashing. He assumed that meant he’d typed it in wrong and he slowly mouthed the numbers to himself while typing them in. The light turned green on his second try and he placed his thumb on the small pad. The door clicked and he pulled it open.

Parrish turned to look at him from the kitchen, nodding once before returning to what he was doing—which was apparently loading the freezer with ice cream, for some reason. Boyd was sitting on the couch at the other end of the room, watching television.

The Nogitsune was inside the cell, as normal. It had been standing closer to where Parrish was, but upon Derek’s entry, it put both hands behind its back and paced a little closer to him, head tilted and a calculating look in its eyes.

_“The prodigal son returns,”_ it said, Derek shutting the door behind himself and moving a few steps forward. _“How refreshing. Someone new to play with.”_

“You’ll quickly find I’m not much fun,” Derek informed it, moving around the large cell to head over to Boyd.

The Nogitsune followed him, one hand coming out to tap against the wall of its prison, fingers drumming an unknown beat.

_“Oh, everyone’s fun in their own way. I can’t wait to find out how to best play with you.”_

Derek ignored it and stopped beside Boyd, nodding to him in greeting. The other looked worn out, and almost relieved. Like he couldn’t wait to get out of there.

That didn’t bode well for Derek.

“You sure you’re up for this?” Boyd asked quietly. Derek suspected the Nogitsune couldn’t hear, because it tilted its head, sighed, then shrugged exaggeratedly and wandered back to the other side of the cell, beginning to pester Parrish.

“I’ll be okay,” Derek said, watching the thing trapped behind plexiglass walls. “It seems harmless enough when it’s not talking.”

“Trust me, nothing about it is harmless,” Boyd muttered, getting to his feet and stretching.

“What’s with the ice cream?” Derek asked, watching Parrish finish up with the last one and shut the freezer door.

“Nogitsune likes it. We can bribe it to shut up sometimes by giving it some. Parrish figured you could use all the bribery you can get.”

“I’m more of a reward for good behaviour kind of guy,” Derek said.

“Trust me,” Boyd muttered. “Spend one full day with the Nogitsune, and you’ll become a bribery kind of guy.”

They really weren’t upselling this job, maybe Derek should’ve just become a mason or something.

Parrish wandered over then, the Nogitsune tapping its fingers along the cell wall as it followed, eyes on the three of them.

“Boyd and I got you unpacked.” He motioned the two dressers across the room. “Left one is yours, right one is that thing’s.” He thumbed over his shoulder. “I put your towel in the bathroom along with your toiletries. Food’s in the fridge and pantry.”

“Don’t forget it only gets plastic spoons,” Boyd cut in. “Erica forgot once, and it was _not_  fun for anyone.”

“There’s a huge supply in the bottom cabinet.” Parrish pointed it out for him. “It’s usually good about putting the trash back for you to grab, but washing the spoons over and over again tends to wear them down, so don’t worry about it too much.”

“And paper plates and bowls only,” Boyd reminded him. “It has Styrofoam cups in there.”

“Come on,” Parrish patted his shoulder. “We’ll show you how to get stuff from out here to in there.”

They both led him around to where the small table was inside the cell. Near the floor, there was a small pocket with two doors on either end, one inside and one outside. Parrish explained that Derek had control of when the inside door unlocked, and showed him how to use it. The inside door would _never_  unlock, even if Derek overrode it, if the outer door was still open. While it would be impossible for the Nogitsune to escape through it, they weren’t taking any chances. It was also locked airtight, so it didn’t compromise the overall ventilation halt or Kanima venom gas, which was good to know.

Parrish let Derek open the outer door and test out how the entire mechanism worked. It was actually pretty sophisticated, and after making sure he knew how to use it, Boyd and Parrish made him put the whole pack’s numbers into his phone as a precaution. He already had the sheriff, Boyd and Tara’s numbers, so Parrish and Boyd just took turns listing off the rest of the pack’s numbers, including the Argents, which Derek didn’t want to include but did anyway.

They told him to put the sheriff on speed-dial one, Scott on two, Boyd on three, and Parrish on four. Everyone else he could put in whatever order he wanted, so he figured he just wouldn’t have more than the four.

He didn’t need a million people on speed-dial.

“I think that’s it,” Parrish muttered after he and Boyd had shown him how to work the bathroom and the kitchen—because Derek had never used either of those before in his life, clearly. He knew they were just stalling, worried to leave Stiles alone with someone new in case he decided that the Nogitsune was too dangerous to let live, but they’d have to leave eventually.

“Call me if you need me to bring you anything,” Boyd said seriously. “I mean it, I don’t live far from here, so if you run out of toothpaste or something, just call.”

“Sure.” Derek wouldn’t. He knew he had everything he needed, and he and the sheriff had already discussed his schedule—twelve days on, three days off—so he knew he’d have enough until his allotted time off.

“Okay.” Parrish and Boyd shared a look, obviously uncomfortable. “Okay.”

Parrish led the way to the door and Derek noticed there was no keypad to exit, but there _was_  a thumbprint reader. Parrish pressed his thumb to it and the door clicked, Boyd pulling it open.

“This place is pretty high-tech,” he said, walking out with them, but standing just outside the open door, the other two climbing a few steps.

“Yeah, it was a joint effort. Chris Argent footed a majority of the bill as a favour to the sheriff.” Derek scowled at those words, but Parrish just shrugged in a ‘what can you do?’ sort of way. “A few people in town helped out, wanting to make sure the base was top of the line to keep everyone safe. Argent had some Hunter buddies help out with building it. Deaton added some wards, both inside and out. It was for the best, so we all did what we had to in order to get it up and running.”

“How long has this been here?” Derek turned to look back into the room, a little startled to find the Nogitsune just standing in the middle of the cell, watching him. He made sure not to react and faced out once more when Boyd answered.

“Three years, give or take. The Nogitsune used to be in one of the cells at the station, but that barely held it for long. It kept escaping, so a more permanent solution had to be found.”

“Seems to be working, for the most part.”

They both nodded, and then hesitated once more.

“Look, I know Stiles means nothing to you,” Parrish finally said, a pained look on his face, “but he’s a good kid. And he means the world to his dad. Just—don’t hurt him.”

“I’m not here to hurt anyone,” Derek said. “I’m here to watch the Nogitsune.”

Boyd and Parrish shared an uneasy look, but eventually the Werewolf climbed the stairs and Parrish had no choice but to follow, since both doors couldn’t be open at the same time.

Derek watched them for a few seconds longer, then walked back into the room and shut the door behind him with a sense of finality.

Letting out a breath, he straightened himself up, shoulders squared, and turned to face his new roommate.

* * *

Derek and the Nogitsune stared at one another for a long while, the Werewolf noticing that the thing was tapping its fingers against its jean-clad legs, like it couldn’t stand still. The other had its head cocked to one side, as if examining Derek, but it said nothing for a long while. It just watched.

Figuring he may as well just pretend there wasn’t a giant see-through cell in the middle of the room, Derek wandered over to the dressers to look through them, making sure he knew where his specific articles of clothing were, and then perusing what was in the top two drawers of Stiles’ dresser.

Parrish had left the stack of books Derek had brought on top of his dresser, so he grabbed one and headed for the couch, turning off the television when he reached it and then shifting the sofa around so that it was facing the cell.

With a grunt, he lay down on it, one arm behind his head, and then opened his book, beginning to read.

_“You’ll run out of books eventually, you know,”_ the Nogitsune informed him. _“You’ll start getting bored. How long, do you think, before the cabin fever sets in? Most of them can’t even last two days down here. And you’re meant to be my guard? My own personal always on duty babysitter?”_ It clicked its tongue once. _“That’s gonna be tough. I miss fresh air. It must be worse for you, being a wolf. Just think, after a few hours down here, with this recycled air, your lungs will be **begging**  for a nice breath of fresh air.”_

Derek wasn’t letting its words get to him, but he was finding it rather difficult to read while the fucking thing kept yapping away like that. Thankfully, he’d come prepared after everything he’d been told about the Nogitsune.

Standing and setting his book down, the thing in the cell perked up.

_“Struck a nerve already? That must be a new record, even for me.”_

It followed Derek around its cell back to where the dressers were. Derek bent down and rooted through the bottom drawer until he found what he was looking for. When he straightened and returned to the couch, the Nogitsune looked mildly impressed.

_“Clever. And so quick off the bat, too.”_

Derek ignored it, sticking his wireless headphones on and turning on his Ipod. He queued up an instrumental playlist, then lay back down and picked his book back up, listening to the soft sound of violins in his ears while reading the book.

He actually managed to get a good chapter in before jerky movement out of the corner of his eye had him turn his head sharply to check what the Nogitsune was doing. It just smiled viciously at him from the middle of the cell, raising one hand to wave by only wiggling its fingers. It was fucking creepy and it gave Derek chills, but he ignored it once more and went back to reading.

When he saw another flash of movement, he turned his head again, but the Nogitsune hadn’t even moved.

It took him two more occurrences to figure out what it was doing. The Nogitsune couldn’t _speak_  to him to keep him on edge, so it was making large movements to catch Derek’s attention out of the corner of his eye, and then standing there looking innocent.

Derek sat up, staring at it for a second, then glanced past it at the door across the room.

Realistically, people slept in this place with the Nogitsune here. It wasn’t about keeping an eye on it _exactly_ , but more having people around in case it tried to escape. Given that, Derek didn’t need to _see_  it, so long as he could keep _track_  of it.

Setting his book down, Derek stood—which seemed to delight the Nogitsune—and then moved to the end of the couch. He started pushing it around the prison and across the room towards the door, the thing in the cell giving him a confused—and annoyed—look. Derek ignored it and turned the couch so it was facing the door, back to the cell. He lay down once more, and lowered the volume on his music just a little bit, figuring he could probably take the headphones off entirely and the Nogitsune wouldn’t even notice since it couldn’t see him.

_“Well,”_ the thing said coldly, _“you’re going to ruin **all**  my fun, aren’t you?”_

_That’s the plan,_  Derek thought to himself, then returned to reading, the soft sound of music playing in his ears.

It actually wasn’t half bad. When he couldn’t hear or see the Nogitsune, it was like he was just lying on the couch back in the loft. He actually even enjoyed his time spent catching up on his reading, and only realized how much time had passed when his stomach growled.

Checking the time on his Ipod, he realized it was almost two. Well past lunchtime. He hadn’t even noticed.

Figuring he should feed both himself _and_  the monster, he set his book down and turned off his music. Sitting up while pulling off his headphones, he stood once everything was in a pile at the end of the couch and turned to the cell.

He just barely managed not to rush for the cell door—nevermind he didn’t even know where it _was_  since he couldn’t see it. He’d taken a jerky step forward but forced himself not to panic, despite his heart going a mile a minute.

The Nogitsune was lying flat on its stomach in the middle of the cell, foam around its lips and eyes dull and unblinking. It was in an awkward angle, limbs bent in uncomfortable positions that made it look like it hit the ground without meaning to.

Derek kept his expression neutral, staring at it. He listened hard, over the sound of the fridge and other various noises from within the room they both lived in. Under all of the noise surrounding them, he just barely picked up the sound of a heartbeat.

Parrish’s notes had mentioned it doing this before, multiple times. People tended to open the cell in a panic, worried about Stiles, and while Derek _had_  panicked for half a second, it was more about the fact that a body was lying motionless on the floor, not because he cared specifically about the person.

A small distinction, but enough to have him slam on the brakes and not do anything stupid.

Though—he really _didn’t_  know where the door was. That was probably a good thing.

Letting out a slow breath, he turned and headed for the kitchen to scrounge up some food. There were a lot of packaged dinners, and some various items in the fridge. He figured a sandwich would work for lunch and he could make something more substantial for dinner.

Pointedly ignoring the Nogitsune behind him, he went about making two sandwiches, not knowing what the thing liked but figuring it would eat what he gave it.

He’d just finished making the food, and had turned with both plates in his hands when he started violently and almost dropped them.

The Nogitsune was back on its feet, almost right against the cell wall, facing Derek with its head tilted at an angle. Intelligent eyes stared out at him, and Derek couldn’t help the uneasy feeling that crept up his spine.

It had stood up, wiped its mouth off and moved across the cell so silently Derek hadn’t even heard it. That was a bit of a concern, if he was honest.

“Hungry?” he asked, attempting to cover up how uncomfortable he felt.

_“You didn’t even care,”_ the Nogitsune said, still staring at him. _“It was like we were just napping on the floor.”_

“Wouldn’t recommend it, you’ll probably catch a cold.” Derek wandered over to the couch, setting down his sandwich, then moved to the small pocket.

He bent down, opening the outer door, and set the paper plate in the pocket. When he closed the outer door, he unlocked the inner one and looked up at the Nogitsune.

It had followed him across the room, but he’d been paying attention this time, so when he looked up to it right in front of him, head slightly tilted and fingers drumming on its thighs, he didn’t jump.

_“Heartless beast or animal takeover?”_  it asked curiously.

“What?” Derek asked, against his better judgement.

_“Just trying to figure out if you’ve let the animal within take over and dictate your life for you—eat, sleep, fuck, etc.”_  A cruel smirk formed on its lips at those words. _“Or maybe you’ve just lost so many people that you don’t care anymore. Especially not about someone you don’t even know.”_

The Nogitsune reached up with both hands, wrapping them around its own neck and squeezing, eyes locked on Derek’s.

“Are you gonna take the sandwich or not?”

They had a staredown for a few more seconds before the Nogitsune hummed in interest, then reached down to open the inside door. It pulled the food out of the pocket and let the door shut once more, Derek locking it. He figured the Nogitsune had long ago exhausted its attempts to try something by not shutting the inner door, because it was surprisingly compliant.

Standing, the thing moved to the small table and fell into the seat there while Derek stood to head back to the couch.

_“I’m not a fan of tuna.”_

“Then don’t eat it,” Derek said, sitting down and grabbing his plate and book. “I’m your guard, not your chef.”

The Nogitsune let out another hum of interest, then fell silent.

It took everything Derek had in him not to turn around.

* * *

The rest of the day progressed fairly normally for Derek. The Nogitsune tried to get his attention every now and then, but Derek had grown up with Laura and Cora so he was really good at ignoring things. Plus, when he was lying down on the couch, the Nogitsune couldn’t tell when he had his headphones on or not.

Derek read until dinner, making some paprika-coated chicken and carrots. It was ridiculously inconvenient having to cut everything up like the damn thing was a fucking child, but he just did it because he knew he had to.

The Nogitsune complained again but Derek ignored it and just went to watch TV. He got an obnoxious commentary about the show he was watching from behind him, but at least the Nogitsune had given up on being a dick about things.

For now.

Derek would take what he could get, at this point.

After dinner, he washed his dishes and tossed out the paper plate the Nogitsune’s food had been on. He stripped to take a shower, ignoring the appreciative once-over he got while striding naked across the room.

_“Born Werewolf. No sense of personal space, and absolutely no shame. I could’ve used a body like yours. Too bad about the wolf thing.”_

Derek ignored it and turned on the shower. He kept the bathroom door open, not wanting to have something happen while he was naked with shampoo in his hair—because that would be his luck. The Nogitsune just stood watching him like a creepy asshole. Derek figured he’d get used to the staring eventually.

Once he was out and towelled off, he grabbed some loose sweats and went back to the couch to read some more.

At half past ten, he decided to call it a night, standing from the couch and padding across the room to the lights.

_“Oh please, not the lights, I’m afraid of the dark,”_  the Nogitsune said, its tone mocking.

“Exposure helps,” Derek responded, and flipped the switch.

The room went dark, but there were still a few emergency lights interspersed throughout the room, likely so that the Nogitsune was never _fully_  out of sight. It wouldn’t have been a problem for Derek, since being a Werewolf meant he had better eyesight than most, but it was probably best to have more of a view than not.

When he climbed into the bed, he was surprised at how comfortable it was. He liked his own at the loft better, for obvious reason, but this one was actually pretty good.

Settling in, he rolled onto his side so he was facing the wall, wanting to make it clear to the Nogitsune that he was completely uninterested in it and not at _all_  afraid of it. He closed his eyes once he’d pulled the covers up and shifted to get comfortable, ready for sleep.

_“Good night, Derek Hale,”_ the Nogitsune said, the sound of its drumming fingers meeting Derek’s ears. _“Don’t think about the crushing claustrophobia of this confined space and how we’ll both roast to death if you forgot to turn off the stove.”_

Derek’s eyes opened, and he had to think _really_  hard to be sure he _did_ , in fact, turn off the stovetop. He didn’t want to turn around, and he _definitely_  didn’t want to stand to check, that would just prove to the Nogitsune that it was getting to him.

It was hard trying to sleep when the words kept floating through his mind, not to mention he kept worrying about it being too quiet behind him.

Isaac had been the first to tell him, but everyone else had kind of parroted him in that it took _weeks_  for people to get used to sleeping down there with the evil spirit. Derek was hoping it wouldn’t take him too long, since the others had all been rotating and thus required more time to acclimate. He was ready for a few nights of shitty sleep.

He dozed off and on for hours, waking at every small sound and having rolled over so he was facing the cell. The Nogitsune had gone to bed at some point while Derek had had his back turned, and he watched the slow rise and fall of the other’s chest.

Eventually, he fell into a more restful sleep and when he checked the clock on his phone after waking up for what felt like the millionth time, he saw it was just past eight in the morning.

Figuring he may as well get up, he climbed out of bed and changed into a pair of jeans and a loose shirt. The sweats were tucked under his pillow and the bed was made.

Derek felt different today. Not different in the sense that being down in this room was less stressful today than it had been yesterday, but just... Something felt _better_. He had this warm feeling in his chest, his skin almost tingling, and he could feel what he could only describe as a small fire of energy pulsing in the base of his spine. For the first time in a long time, probably since before Laura had died, he felt... okay. He felt like a normal person again.

It was a weird feeling, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to handle it, so he just shrugged it off, rolled his shoulders, and inhaled deeply so he could get on with his day.

When he turned to head for the kitchen, he paused when he looked into the cell and saw the monster half hanging off the bed. It was sleeping on its stomach, one arm and a third of its torso over the side, head dangerously close to sliding off the mattress as well.

It slept a little oddly for an evil spirit, Derek had assumed it would sleep on its back with its arms crossed over its chest. Like Dracula or something.

Not that vampires slept like that, as far as Derek knew.

Shrugging off the weird way the other slept, Derek walked around the cell and opened the fridge once he reached the kitchen. He got to work frying bacon and making scrambled eggs, halfway through the meal prep when he heard a loud, pitiful groan.

_“Dad, that better not be you making bacon,”_ a sleep-filled voice said.

Derek ignored it, figuring it was just trying to act like Stiles again, same as it had that first day. He didn’t hear any movement behind him, so figured the Nogitsune was still lying in bed, but then also remembered that it moved eerily silently. Still, the less he reacted to the thing, the better this entire experience would be.

He got the food divvyed up onto two plates, tossed a piece of toast down on each, then headed for the couch. He set his own ceramic plate and metal fork down, then headed for the pocket with the paper one and plastic spoon. The Nogitsune hadn’t moved, still lying on the bed, but it had shifted itself back onto it properly and had both arms under the pillow, propping it up a bit more so it was comfortable.

Derek bent down to put the food into the pocket, then shut the outer door and unlocked the inner one.

“Come get your breakfast.”

A head shot up from the bed, hair every which way and bleary eyes turned towards Derek, attempting to focus.

It stared at him for a long while, Derek staring right back and waiting for it to come over to grab its food.

His patience was wearing thin. He hadn’t gotten enough sleep to deal with stubbornness.

_“Hi...”_ the Nogitsune said slowly, eying Derek. _“Who are you?”_

“Do you want breakfast, or not?” he snapped, uninterested in playing this game.

_“Okay, no, seriously,”_ the other said, rolling over and trying to untangle itself from its blankets, all the while staring out at Derek. _“Who are you?”_

It managed to get to its feet, then almost tripped on the edge of its blanket before catching itself and hurrying to the pocket. It was still staring at Derek, waiting for an answer, but it reached in to grab the food, shutting the inner door so Derek could lock it again.

When he went to stand, the Nogitsune sighed and stood as well, following him on the other side of the transparent cell wall.

_“See, **this**  is the shitty thing about being possessed,”_ it grumbled, Derek returning to the couch and sitting with his back to it. _“No one listens to me when I’m me.”_

Derek was going to get really tired of its voice by the time he had a day off. If he had to hear it yammer on incessantly repeatedly, he was going to find it a muzzle.

“It’s not going to work,” Derek said when the thing continued to mutter angrily under its breath at not being believed.

He heard the slight jump, as if he’d startled it, and then silence for a few seconds.

_“You’re a Werewolf.”_

“Hasn’t changed overnight,” Derek picked up his food and started eating, plate on one knee and book held open in his free hand, chewing slowly while reading.

The silence lasted two seconds, the monster behind him sighing explosively.

_“Right. Okay. You don’t believe me, I get it. Not like I’m not used to it.”_ It sounded bitter when it said this last bit, but continued before Derek could say anything. It had succeeded in ending his reading, at least.

_“Fine,”_ the other sighed loudly. _“Just **pretend**  I’m still the Nogitsune and humour me. Who are you?”_

Derek knew better than to engage. Everyone had told him not to verbally spar with the Nogitsune, _especially_  when it acted like Stiles. Derek may not know Stiles, but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that this wasn’t the Nogitsune’s usual behaviour.

Knowing he shouldn’t engage, and desperately trying not to, Derek grit his teeth and set his book down, turning on the couch so he was sitting with his back against the armrest, plate still in his lap.

The Nogitsune was sitting at the table, picking at its eggs with its cheek resting against one fist, looking bored and dejected. It turned when it caught movement, Derek shifting around, and instantly straightened, dropping its plastic spoon and staring at Derek with wide, bright brown eyes. It almost looked excited.

That couldn’t bode well.

At least it wasn’t bitching about the food, for once.

“I’m your new guard,” Derek finally said. He knew he shouldn’t humour it, _knew_  he shouldn’t engage, but he was already feeling the weight of the place bearing down on him and it would be nice to talk to someone.

Even an evil, murdering, possessing spirit.

The Nogitsune cocked an eyebrow at him, gave him a slow once-over—as much of him as it could see, anyway—then rolled its eyes. _“Uh huh. Sure. Because models agree to a gig like this.”_

It looked around then, as if for someone else, and seemed to catch little changes in the room, if its facial expressions were anything to go by. Derek didn’t remember how the place had looked his first time here, but he was sure the second dresser was new—which reminded him that he should get the dirty clothes out of the cell and clean ones in—and there were little things that had likely been changed for Derek’s more permanent stay.

He was proven right when the Nogitsune’s eyes widened and it whipped its head back around in Derek’s direction, as if realising that Derek wasn’t lying and he truly _was_  the new guard.

_“Wait, for real?”_ it asked, sounding so shocked Derek almost believed it. _“Wow. Okay.”_ It laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of its head, obviously embarrassed about its earlier ‘model’ comment. Clearing its throat, it offered Derek a smile. It was a nice smile.

Derek hated it.

_“Uh, well, **hi**. I’m Stiles.”_ It offered Derek a small wave, then sighed almost immediately. _“Whether you believe that or not. And you are?”_

It reached for its plastic spoon and began stuffing some scrambled eggs into its mouth, staring at Derek as if he were the most interesting thing in the world. If Derek didn’t know any better, he would assume that this really _was_  Stiles. It seemed so eager, so excited for someone to be speaking to it, even if all Derek had done so far was insist this game it was playing wasn’t going to work.

It was almost like it was just so desperate for attention that any attention was worthwhile, even if it was bad attention. Derek wasn’t going to let himself be fooled though, because he wasn’t an idiot, and he knew this was just the Nogitsune trying to trick him.

Still, he couldn’t help but play along, at least a little. He was going to get cabin fever soon if he didn’t have _some_  kind of interaction, so he answered, humouring it.

“Derek Hale.”

The other choked on its food, coughing and thumping one fist against its chest. It continued to cough, getting to its feet and hurrying towards the bathroom area. It pushed open the small transparent door and grabbed a Styrofoam cup off the counter. Filling it with water, it took a long drink, then re-filled it while breathing hard, letting out one last cough. It sipped at the drink while wandering back towards the table, setting it down and then moving a bit closer to the edge of its prison, staring out at Derek.

_“Derek Hale?”_ it asked, as if it hadn’t just choked on its own spit—though it may also have been the food itself. _“As in-as in **Hale**  Hale?”_

“Is that a problem?” Derek asked, picking up some bacon and popping it into his mouth, chewing slowly while watching the Nogitsune.

_“No, no,”_ the other insisted, holding both hands out. _“I just... wow. Derek Hale. Hi.”_ It rubbed the back of its neck with one hand, wincing slightly, and said, very quietly, _“I’m really sorry about your family.”_

Derek felt his hackles rise at the words, resisting the urge to bare his teeth. Now he _knew_  this was the Nogitsune because nobody would be callous enough to mention the death of his family unless they wanted to hurt him, especially not some _child_  who’d been no older than twelve when it had happened. Why would Stiles have cared enough at all to apologise for his loss? He wouldn’t, which was how Derek knew it _wasn’t_  truly Stiles.

Turning his back on it once more, Derek reached for his book, returning to his lecture and hearing a sigh behind him. There was shuffling, evidently the thing making its way back to the table, and then silence. Derek resisted the urge to turn around, focussing on what he was doing, and forking food into his mouth. When he finished, he set the book down and turned, holding his plate in one hand.

The Nogitsune had just shoved the last piece of toast into its mouth, still looking dejected, but it perked up slightly when it saw Derek had turned to face it. It was like a fucking puppy, excited at any form of attention.

It pissed Derek off.

“Are you done?”

Nodding and slapping its hands together, the Nogitsune stood and headed for the pocket, Derek doing the same. He unlocked the inside door, the plate being set into it, and then waited while it shut so he could lock it once more and take the paper plate and plastic spoon out.

“You should give me your clothes, too, while I’m here. I’ll grab you some new ones.”

_“Sure.”_ The Nogitsune stood and wandered towards the bathroom area, picking up a pile of clothing off the floor. It tossed the jeans across the back of the chair it’d been sitting in, then folded the plaid overshirt into itself so that its socks, underwear and shirt were all wrapped inside it. It bent down and put the bundle into the pocket, and Derek reached in to grab it before standing.

He went to toss the dirty clothes into the hamper by the dressers first, then went to the kitchen to rinse off his plate and cutlery, and toss out the paper plate and plastic spoon. It occurred to him that he should be trying to save the spoons as much as possible, but it was too tiresome right now, he was still trying to acclimate to his current life. He’d start saving the planet one spoon at a time in a few days.

“Do you care what you wear?” Derek asked while heading back across the room. No one had told him anything about clothing for the Nogitsune, just that someone would come by to do laundry every now and then.

He saw the other shrug out of the corner of his eye. _“I wear whatever people give me. The others all know my style, so they tend to stick to it, but I’ll wear whatever you put in the pocket.”_

Derek just grunted and opened the dresser drawers. He pulled out a new pair of boxers and socks, then opened the other ones to find a shirt. He noticed that there seemed to be a lot of shirts and plaid overshirts, and figured that was Stiles’ ‘style,’ especially considering that was what the thing wearing his face had been wearing the two times Derek had seen it. He didn’t want the Nogitsune to figure out he’d noticed that, though, so he just grabbed a regular tee and shut the dresser, moving back to the pocket to make the exchange.

This was going to be a killer workout for his hamstrings and core.

_“Thanks.”_ The Nogitsune smiled at him, and Derek was once again struck by how much he fucking hated it. Because it was such a nice smile.

He said nothing and just stood, moving back to the couch. He started to fall onto it so he could get back to his reading when the Nogitsune spoke and he froze.

_“So, how’s your sister doing? I heard you two had moved away together, did she come back with you, too?”_

Derek turned very slowly, a snarl on his lips. The easygoing expression on the Nogitsune’s face instantly fell and turned into one of worry at the look on Derek’s.

“My sister is dead,” he growled angrily, feeling bits of the wolf peeking out and struggling to hold it back.

The Nogitsune had already hit this particular sore spot, evidently it was working to see how much more pain it could inflict on him by driving the point home.

He was actually more angered by the look of horror on the Nogitsune’s face at his words. As if it hadn’t known Laura was dead. As if it hadn’t taunted him about her once before.

Damn, the thing was a good actor.

_“I didn’t—”_ It cut itself off, wincing and tightening its grip on the clothes it still held. _“I didn’t know. I’m—Shit, I’m really sorry.”_ It actually looked like it meant it, too. Derek didn’t have the easiest time smelling things from inside the cell, but right now, he actually caught a small whiff of bitterness and regret. _“I’m sorry. I wasn’t—Look, the Nogitsune, it says a-a lot of things. Bad things. Hurtful things. If it already knew, it makes sense that you’d think...”_ It trailed off, evidently able to discern based on the look on Derek’s face that he didn’t believe it.

Which he didn’t. Derek had already proven to the thing once that Laura was a sore spot, so obviously it would poke and prod at that spot incessantly.

The Nogitsune seemed to deflate, sadness peeking through from the cell walls and invading Derek’s olfactory system. The other turned away slightly, looking ashamed and upset. _“Sorry. I’ll just...”_ It motioned absently towards the bathroom area, then turned completely so its back was to Derek.

It dropped its clothes onto the table, then began to strip off the pyjamas it wore, tossing its sleep shirt and sweats onto the unmade bed. It wasn’t wearing any underwear, and it seemed only about five percent embarrassed to be naked in front of Derek.

The Nogitsune probably didn’t give a shit, and if this truly _was_  Stiles—which Derek _knew_  it wasn’t—then the possessed human was probably used to being naked in front of other people. After all, the Nogitsune hadn’t had any problems pissing the day before in full view of Derek, not that he’d been looking given he’d mostly ignored the thing.

Today was harder. He couldn’t help but want to watch it. It wasn’t being a creepy motherfucker, and it actually made sound when it moved. It was weird, to see the Nogitsune emulate Stiles so perfectly. Derek may not have known Stiles, but he could tell this was a very good impersonation of him.

When the shower started and the other got beneath the spray, Derek finally sat down on the couch and picked the book back up, reading it while keeping an ear out for the Nogitsune behind him. He knew it was still in the shower, and not pretending, because he kept hearing the louder splash of water that always happened whenever the other moved. After a good twenty minutes, the water stopped and he paused in his reading to listen and make sure the other wasn’t doing anything it shouldn’t be.

He heard movement: shuffling, rustling, a towel rubbing against wet skin. After a while, things were silent, and it took everything he had in him not to turn around, but he managed to resist.

There was a thunk, more rustling, and then silence once more.

Derek felt like living here full time was going to kill his nerves. He was going to be nervous about every noise he ever heard for the rest of his life. He’d probably go home on his first day off and hear a bird chirp and propel out of bed in his beta shift. Not a happy thought, but a possibility, if he was honest.

He tried to focus back on his book, and it worked for a good long while before he heard something unusual from behind him. Frowning, he couldn’t help but turn around, and instantly stood, tossing his book onto the couch and losing his page.

“What is that?” he demanded, rushing around the couch and the side of the cell towards the pocket.

The Nogitsune jumped from where it was seated at the table, looking up at Derek. _“What?”_

“What is that?!” Derek demanded again, stopping in front of the pocket. “Give it to me! Now!”

_“Dude, chill, it’s a book,”_  the other insisted, holding up an old, frayed paperback novel. _“I’m allowed to—”_

“I said _give it to me now_!” Derek shouted, slamming one fist against the cell wall.

The Nogitsune looked startled, but hastily got to its feet. _“Shit, all right, okay. Calm down.”_ It hurried to the pocket and bent down, opening the door when Derek unlocked it and placing it inside. Derek yanked it out once he could open the outer door, standing and glaring at the thing in the cell.

The other had both hands raised in surrender. _“Are you cool now? Can I say something? Jesus, it’s a **book** , dude. I’m allowed to have a book. I can’t have pens or anything because the Nogitsune might make me stab myself in the eye, and I can’t have a computer because—”_ It cut off and frowned. _“Actually, I don’t know why, but something happened once and they took it away and I was never told why, but anyway, I can’t have that, but books I can have.”_  It motioned the dresser with a wave of its hand. _“Check the bottom drawer, it’s full of books. The others just alternate them for me whenever one’s been in here for a while.”_

Derek glared at it, but obediently turned towards the dresser. He checked out the book while he walked, flipping through it to check for hidden blades between the pages, or any loose pieces of paper, or anything at all that might be considered dangerous.

He found nothing. It was just a book. It was some kind of _Star Wars_  saga book, and looked like it had been read a ridiculous amount of times given the frayed state the spine was in.

Stopping in front of the dresser, he pulled open the bottom drawer and found that it was, in fact, full of books. Most of them were _Star Wars_ , but there were a few random history books, some autobiographies, _Harry Potter_ , and another series Derek didn’t recognize. Frowning, he turned back to the Nogitsune, who was still staring at him with its hands raised, as if worried to move.

Its eyes kept shifting nervously to The Panic Button, as if concerned it was about to be hit and it was going to lose oxygen and become paralysed. That look kind of annoyed Derek, because it meant it had happened enough times that it was an actual concern for the monster.

He still didn’t know how much he trusted the Nogitsune though, so he pulled out his phone and checked the charge. He’d forgotten to plug it in the night before, having been too distracted. It only had one bar, but the battery was at seventeen percent. Enough for a call.

He almost dialled the sheriff, but something made him hesitate. He worried about what would happen if he made this call to him. He didn’t want the sheriff to freak out and think something was wrong if he saw Derek’s name flashing on the screen. He’d have called Boyd, but he knew he was working and he didn’t want to bother him. The only person he thought he could get away with calling right now who wouldn’t full-on panic was Scott, so he grit his teeth—he really wasn’t a fan of the Alpha—and hit the speed dial for him. He placed the phone to his ear, listening to it ring. On the second ring, he heard a noise out in the stairwell and froze, turning to stare at the door and wondering what was going on. The phone was still ringing at his ear when there was a loud clang and a beep and the door to the room opened.

Scott was standing in the doorway, looking worried. His eyes immediately shot to the cell, eyes raking over the Nogitsune’s form while he shut the door, as if making sure his friend’s body was still in one piece.

Derek noticed the Nogitsune perk up slightly. _“Hey Scotty!”_

He hung up the phone while Scott headed for him. The Alpha was ignoring the Nogitsune entirely, and he gave Derek a brief once-over.

“What happened?”

Scowling, Derek crossed his arms, one hand still clenched tightly around his phone. “Were you just hanging around outside the outpost all this time?”

_“No?”_  the Nogitsune asked with a small sigh. _“No hi? Just gonna ignore me, then?”_

“I don’t trust you with him,” Scott bit out, half-speaking over the end of the Nogitsune’s sentence. Derek noticed Scott was the only one who ever referred to the Nogitsune as ‘he’ instead of ‘it.’ Because he didn’t think about the Nogitsune at all, didn’t even acknowledge its existence. All Scott cared about was his friend, the body of the person who was currently being possessed. That was it. The monster inside him meant nothing to him.

Derek’s gaze shifted from Scott, and then over his shoulder to the prisoner in the cell, then back to Scott. He could tell the sadness and hurt from within the prison was genuine. Even if the Nogitsune was a good actor, he didn’t feel like anyone could fake _this_  level of sadness. Even the fear he’d felt his first time meeting it hadn’t felt as genuine as this. Sure, it had felt _real_ , but it hadn’t felt _genuine_. To Derek, there was a distinct difference.

“Everything is fine,” Derek said instead of commenting.

But, for the first time since he’d woken up, he was actually beginning to think that maybe, _just_  maybe, this was _actually_  Stiles, and not the Nogitsune.

“Then why did you call?” Scott asked, anger in his tone and frown on his face.

“I had a question,” Derek informed him dryly. “I didn’t expect you to run in here thinking I’d killed your friend.”

_“There’s an idea,”_ he heard... _Stiles_ mutter. _“Everyone can go back to their regularly scheduled lives.”_

Scott ignored him, focussed on Derek, but the Beta couldn’t ignore him to that degree. Especially considering what Scott and he had discussed before he’d taken this job. About how Stiles had told Scott to kill him. It seemed out of character for the Nogitsune.

Which meant this _wasn’t_  the Nogitsune.

“What do you need?” Scott asked, ignoring the other in the cell, and crossing his arms.

“He had this.” Derek automatically switched from ‘it’ to ‘he’ without missing a beat. He held up the book, and Scott sighed, shaking his head.

“He’s allowed books,” he informed him. “I guess no one told you. Books are fine, he can’t really do much more than give himself paper cuts with them. We swap them out every now and then so he has some form of entertainment.”

_“You could also turn the TV on every now and then,”_ Stiles said from the cell. _“I mean, are you guys all allergic to good television? You should see the boring shit Parrish watches.”_

Derek saw Scott’s jaw clenching, and it looked like he was trying hard _not_  to turn around and snap at the monster. He was trying his best to ignore him, but Derek figured it was impossible to _completely_  ignore someone.

“As long as he’s allowed the books, that’s all I wanted to know. It didn’t warrant a visit. If I was going to kill him, pretty sure the sheriff would be the first one here given he has a camera in the cell.” Derek motioned upwards vaguely, scowling at Scott.

The Alpha frowned, obviously not liking his tone, but he just nodded once, then turned and headed for the door, pressing his thumb to the machine beside it and waiting for the lock to click. When he opened the door, Derek looked at who he was now positive was Stiles as the other waved.

_“See ya, Scotty. Nice chat.”_ The door slammed and he let his hand drop, looking and smelling sad and bitter at the same time. _“Whatever. Not like I’m not used to it.”_ He turned and went to fall face-first on his bed, lying there and not moving.

Derek stood watching him for a long while, scents leaking through the cell and invading his olfactory system—he could only assume they escaped from the same vent that allowed air to circulate inside.

The Nogitsune had no reason to keep up a charade like this for Scott once the other had actually left. Even while he’d been there, there was legitimately no reason for it to be pretending, especially since it knew Scott would ignore it, and Derek wouldn’t know what Stiles and Scott used to be like enough to determine whether or not it was acting. He didn’t know Stiles at _all_ , so pretending to be him meant nothing to Derek. The Nogitsune could pretend to be acting like Stiles in a completely different way, and Derek would have no idea unless someone else was in the room to comment on it.

He knew it was naive of him to think he knew Stiles well enough to determine whether or not this was or wasn’t him, but he was just... _different_. Even when compared to that first time he’d met the monster, when it had been pretending to be Stiles, there was just something about him _now_  that wasn’t the same. Like he subconsciously knew that the first meeting hadn’t truly been Stiles, but that now it was.

He’d woken up muttering about bacon and his dad not having any, he’d looked genuinely confused at seeing Derek, had really seemed to regret talking about Derek’s family, and was now lying face-first on his bed like a moping child. Even if the Nogitsune could act, and could pretend he was Stiles, somehow this seemed different. This seemed like someone who’d given up on everything and had jumped at the chance to try and speak to someone new if only because Derek had actually responded back. No one really seemed to speak to him, and even when they did, they tended to be rude or dismissive.

Derek had already assumed if Stiles was still in there that he was probably bored and lonely. This pretty much proved that.

Staring down at the book he still held, he slowly made his way back across the room to where the pocket was and bent down to replace it. Once the outer door was shut, he looked up, but the other hadn’t moved from the bed.

“Come and get your book,” he said, not unkindly.

_“Keep it,”_ Stiles muttered back, voice muffled by the cell walls and his pillow. _“Maybe I can just die of boredom and be done with this.”_

Derek hesitated. “I’m sorry.”

_“Why?”_ Stiles lifted his head slightly, turning to look at him. He looked genuinely upset, but he forced a smile. _“Most people would kill to be waited on hand and foot. I’m living the dream.”_

They stared at one another for a long time, and Derek said, very softly, “I believe that, right now, in this moment, you’re Stiles.”

_“Don’t bother,”_ the other said bitterly, falling back fully onto the bed. _“The Nogitsune will fucking ruin that, too. And I’ll have nothing. Like I’ve had for the past however many years.”_ He shifted on the bed so he was on his side, curled into a ball, and said, _“Just leave me alone.”_

Derek stayed crouched by the pocket for a few moments longer. When it became clear Stiles truly wasn’t going to stand, he sighed and got back to his feet, padding over to the couch and sitting down. He’d just picked up his book when he heard a sniff behind him, and it took everything he had in him not to turn around.

* * *

The rest of the day passed much like the previous one. He’d made lunch—another sandwich, which Stiles didn’t complain about, but only because he didn’t eat it—and then had read. When it was nearing dinner time, he tried again to get the other out of bed, and just got the pillow thrown in his direction for his efforts. Derek gave up and went to make his dinner, not bothering with an additional portion since Stiles clearly wouldn’t eat it.

He was just about done eating his food when he felt some kind of... shift. He didn’t even know how to describe it, it was like some weird pull in the back of his chest, almost like an elastic band being pulled past its breaking point and snapping. It was a familiar feeling that had his insides aching, but he couldn’t place it and he couldn’t figure out _why_  it hurt so much.

And for some reason, it made him turn around.

He started at the sight of the Nogitsune standing right at the cell wall, head tilted and fingers drumming silently against its thighs. A twisted smile curved onto its lips when it saw Derek looking.

_“I can’t believe you fell for that today. Did my sad and pathetic emoing hurt you enough that you felt bad for poor little Stiles?”_

Derek just stared at it, and for some reason, he just thought back to what had been said earlier. About not bothering to believe anything, because the Nogitsune would ruin that and Stiles would have nothing. He knew it was stupid and naive to believe the person earlier that morning had been Stiles, but there was just... some kind of... there was just _something_. It was like even before Derek had met him, the thought of how sad and alone he must’ve felt all the time was just so in sync with Derek’s own life that he couldn’t help but feel connected to him somehow. Stiles had never asked for this. He’d tried to save his father, and his reward was being possessed.

He was so done with everything that he actually asked to be killed, hoped to die of boredom, and had just laid in bed all day. And he hadn’t been lying in bed motionless, either. Derek had heard him shifting around every now and then, which was something he’d noticed the Nogitsune didn’t do. It just stood silently, sat silently, remained completely motionless at all times it wasn’t being looked at.

“You could just let him go,” Derek said, eating his last bite and then standing, heading to drop his dishes off in the kitchen. “Now that you’re up and not being a shit, eat something before I go in there and force feed it to you.”

_“Oh? Wouldn’t that be a sight.”_ The Nogitsune had followed him inside the cell, fingers sliding along the transparent wall. _“Come on in, I’d love to have a visitor.”_

Derek ignored it and moved to the pocket, bending down. The Nogitsune sighed, as if Derek was a huge pain in its ass, but obediently went to the pocket and opened the inner door when it unlocked. It grabbed the book and sandwich, and then tsked when it stood.

_“Tuna again? I told you I didn’t like tuna.”_

“I told you I wasn’t your personal chef. Eat your food.”

_“You’re so commanding.”_ The Nogitsune grinned. It wasn’t kind. _“One has to wonder what happened to have the Alpha gene overlook you. Perhaps that nasty business of you having murdered a poor, innocent girl in your youth.”_

Derek stood frozen on the other side of the cell wall, staring at the Nogitsune and trying extremely hard not to lose his cool. It seemed to know it, if the look on its face was any indication.

_“Oh, Stiles. He’s a curious one. He always looked at daddy’s case files when he wasn’t paying attention.”_ The Nogitsune brought one finger to its lips in a shushing motion. _“He saw so many things he shouldn’t have. Of course, back then he didn’t know about Werewolves. All the report said was that you and your mother had found your girlfriend dead in the woods. All she had was one bite mark, and the cause of death was inconclusive.”_ The other’s smile widened. _“What was her name again? Polly?”_

“Shut up,” Derek snarled, feeling his gums itching and his eyes burning. Claws pushed at his fingers and he could feel the wolf inside growling to be released.

_“No, not Polly,”_ the thing continued, ignoring him. _“Started with a P, though. Patricia? Petra?”_

“I told you to shut up,” Derek insisted, stepping closer to the cell.

_“Ah, I got it.”_ The grin was downright cruel. _“Paige.”_

Derek slammed both fists against the prison wall and roared. He only just barely managed not to use his full strength, and even then, he heard the telltale sign of the cell wall groaning. The Nogitsune’s eyes rose slightly, still smiling, and Derek realised it was probably looking at the camera it had in the cell. He thought maybe it was trying to make Derek look like he was about to attack it. It probably wanted him gone, because he was less affected by the pain of having to look at someone who wasn’t really a loved one.

He wasn’t going to let this fucking _thing_  win.

The Nogitsune focussed back on Derek fairly quickly, clearly enjoying this, and Derek remembered what the sheriff had said. About the Nogitsune feeding off chaos, strife, pain and fear.

It wanted him gone, this was true, but it was also doing this on purpose. Because it was feeding in the only way it could while locked away.

_“Did I strike a nerve?”_ The Nogitsune leaned closer to the cell wall, as if it could suck the pain right out of Derek just by being close enough. _“Oh, but you should be used to it by now, shouldn’t you? Your girlfriend died. Your parents died. Your sisters died.”_ It tsked, offering Derek a fake pout. _“People don’t seem to like to stick around when it comes to you. It’s called a pattern. Everyone you ever care about dies. That will never change. You’re going to be alone for the rest of your life, Derek Hale.”_ It pressed both hands against the cell wall, leaning forward until its forehead was right up against it. _“You really are the perfect guard, you know. You have nothing, and no one. Nobody here cares about you. Look how much they trust you.”_

Derek’s eyes unwillingly shifted to the entrance, fully believing Scott was back outside the outpost, lingering, waiting just in case something happened.

_“Scott isn’t going to let you stay, you know. Right now, you’re convenient, but what happens if you let Stiles die? What happens if we get out? What happens when you’re no longer needed? When you’re dispensable? There are Argents here. Two of them in his pack. **In**  his pack, Derek. These people murdered your family, burned them alive. And he invites them into his pack like it doesn’t matter. Like **you**  don’t matter. You’re nothing and no one to them.”_

It took a conscious effort for Derek to calm down, but the more the Nogitsune spoke, the less its words began to affect him. It was purposefully trying to hit him where it hurt, but a lot of what it was saying were things Derek already knew and believed. He _was_  no one to these people. He _had_  no one. He had _nothing_. Nobody would even notice if he disappeared. He was only useful because he didn’t have a life here, and it allowed him to be a full-time guard for the Nogitsune. Once this thing died, or left Stiles’ body, Derek wouldn’t be needed anymore. They would pat him on the back, thank him for his services, and send him on his way.

He knew all that. It was why it didn’t mean anything to him to hear it coming from the Nogitsune.

He took a slow breath, focussed back on the grinning beast in front of him, and said, “Same as you.”

That evidently wasn’t the reaction it was expecting, because it frowned and pulled away from the wall slightly, forehead coming off the surface.

“You know they’re only keeping you alive because of Stiles. They’re not even afraid of you anymore. They’re just tired of you. They ignore you, and hate you, and keep you alive for Stiles.” Derek leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. “Sounds to me like you just described yourself.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, the Nogitsune began to laugh. Loud, grating, and cruel.

_“Oh, you are a fun one, Derek Hale. I am going to enjoy breaking you.”_

“Can’t break what’s already broken,” Derek informed it, moving to head back for the couch.

_“That’s where you’re wrong,”_ the Nogitsune said, following him inside the cell. _“It is the things that are already broken that are the most fun to break.”_

Derek ignored it, sat down, and went back to his book.

It was going to be a long week.

* * *

The following days were much the same as the first two. Derek awoke on his third day to the Nogitsune standing by the cell wall staring at him. It wasn’t a fun way to wake up, especially since it had startled him so badly he’d almost fallen off the bed. It had jabbered on about how useless and alone Derek was, how he wouldn’t find anyone to care about him, how the room they were both in was so very, very small. The usual.

It mentioned the place catching on fire often, and to be honest, this affected Derek a lot more than he liked to admit. He ended up not using the stove for an entire day because he worried he might forget to turn off the burner and they’d both die in that small room. He didn’t like that the Nogitsune was affecting him so much, but he couldn’t help it. The thing was extremely good at getting into his head. He supposed that was the point.

On day six, he went to shower before making dinner and had exited the bathroom to a flushed and embarrassed-looking individual.

Derek had stared at it while heading to grab some clothes, and the other said, _“You seem comfortable with your body being on display.”_

Derek didn’t know why, but even as he stared at it, even as he listened to it speak, saw it acting exactly as it had that second day he’d been there, somehow he knew this wasn’t Stiles. He didn’t know _how_  he knew, but he did. Just like he’d known that second day that it truly _was_  him, he knew with the same certainty that this _wasn’t_.

Just to be sure, he humoured it, and responded.

“I’m a born wolf. We kind of lose our sense of shame at a young age.” Derek grabbed his sweats and yanked them on, then headed for the kitchen to make some food.

The Nogitsune started babbling on about Werewolves and how interesting and fascinating they were, and Derek just listened, being sure to nod and grunt every now and then so the other would think he was actually paying attention. When he made the food and brought it over to the pocket, the other was still speaking to him a mile a minute, bending down to get the food and then smiling brilliantly when it straightened.

_“It’s nice having someone to talk to, even if you don’t believe it’s me. Thanks for giving me a chance.”_

“I know you’re not Stiles,” Derek informed it easily, taking a bite of his food and keeping eye contact. “I just wanted to see what you’d say.”

The other deflated, and Derek had to admit, it looked like real disappointment, but there was just this itching in the back of his throat, this tightness near the base of his spine. It was a feeling he had, one he recognized but couldn’t place, something that told him _this_  Stiles and the one he’d met his second day locked in this place were not the same.

This one was a fake. The other wasn’t.

_“Yeah, yeah, I’m the Nogitsune pretending.”_ The Nogitsune sighed and shook its head, muttering, _“Whatever, not like I’m not used to it.”_

Derek watched it walk across the cell to the small table and sit down, looking depressed and eating its food slowly. Even as Derek stood there eating and watching it, he knew this wasn’t Stiles. It was strange, to realise that he had never met this person, but he still somehow knew. Of course, he was probably entirely wrong and had never met the real Stiles at all to begin with, but he didn’t think so.

The Nogitsune was smart, and cunning, and could use its knowledge of Stiles’ loved ones against them, but it didn’t have that with Derek. It could only hurt Derek with his own past, as everyone kept saying. It couldn’t hurt Derek with Stiles, so even this pretense right now was doing absolutely nothing. It may as well not even have bothered.

“You’re not fooling anyone right now,” Derek said, taking another bite of his pasta. “But by all means, entertain me.”

_“Whatever,”_ the other snapped, and continued shoving food into its mouth.

Shrugging, Derek headed for the couch and went back to reading. He heard nothing from behind him for a long while, and by the time he went to bed, the Nogitsune was back to its usual self, though it didn’t comment on Derek and fake-Stiles’ conversation. Not like it had the last time.

Though Derek acknowledged that the difference was he’d mentioned believing Stiles on the second day, and had said he didn’t believe him today.

In the middle of the night on day ten of his twelve day work schedule, he woke abruptly with a start, unsure of why he was even awake, and felt like the little fire was back. When he sat up, rubbing at his face, he turned and saw that the prisoner in the cell was sitting up in bed, angled towards a light with a book open. He looked and smelled tired, but he was definitely awake and reading.

Derek watched him for a few long seconds, seeing him turn the page in his book and continue to read. His breathing was slow and even, his heart rate steady, and he smelled content. At peace. _Normal_.

“Can’t sleep?”

Stiles started so violently the book flew clear out of his hands. He twisted on the bed enough that he could see Derek, squinting slightly, likely due to the glare of lights on the inside of the cell wall, but he could probably see the Werewolf well enough.

_“Did I wake you? Sorry. I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep so I just figured I’d read.”_

Derek climbed out of bed, and he noticed Stiles flinch, as if worried he was going to get reprimanded and yelled at like he had the last time. Derek ignored that and moved closer, standing right by the outer wall of the cell and staring in at him. _This_  was Stiles. It was only the second time he’d met him, but Derek knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was him.

Again, he had no idea _how_  he knew, but he did. This wasn’t the Nogitsune, this was _Stiles_.

“I’m sorry about the other day,” Derek said. “About the book. I didn’t know.”

Stiles shrugged one shoulder, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and standing so he could go retrieve the book he’d tossed away in fright. _“I’m used to it. The others have been around a lot longer than you, and they still react badly to anything I do.”_

Derek hesitated, but he could tell how much Stiles was trying to act apathetic to the conversation. How much he believed Derek was two seconds away from just shutting him down and ignoring him again. It made Derek’s chest ache, realising how alone he must feel. It was something Derek could relate to, and while he was positive this was going to come back to bite him in the ass later, on days like today where he was _sure_ , truly and completely _sure_  that this was Stiles, he was willing to speak to him.

“It must be really hard,” he said quietly. “Having your friends and family so close, but acting like they don’t know you.”

Stiles paused where he was bent down to retrieve the book, and he turned to look at Derek, still mostly crouched. He slowly picked the book up without taking his eyes off Derek, then stood and turned to him, gripping the item tightly in both hands.

Licking his lips, he nodded once, averting his gaze. _“Yeah. It’s hard. But I get it.”_ He forced a smile and propped his voice up. _“The Nogitsune is a trickster fox. It’s done virtually everything it could think of to make sure no one ever believes me when I say I’m me.”_

“I believe you,” Derek admitted.

_“Then you’re not very smart,”_ Stiles informed him, not unkindly. He just sounded like he was tired of hoping for someone to listen to him. He probably thought Derek _was_  an idiot for so easily believing it was him, even though it _was_  him.

At least, Derek was pretty sure it was.

“No, probably not,” Derek agreed, but he stood staring at Stiles a while longer.

He hadn’t really spent much time looking at him, mostly because it was the Nogitsune and Derek did his best to avoid it, but Stiles was actually fairly good looking. He wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous or anything, but he was attractive. Derek would have probably been interested in a hookup if he’d run into him in a bar in New York.

Derek had learned during his university years that he didn’t seem to discriminate. He’d gone out with friends once and started making out with some random stranger, who’d then sucked his dick behind the club, and had invited Derek home for a fuck. Since then, it was pretty evident to Derek that gender didn’t matter. Female, male, non-binary, he was fine with anything.

He drew the line at possessed by an evil spirit, though, but could admit that Stiles was a good looking guy. He felt bad that he’d been locked away since he was sixteen, he probably didn’t even know anything about his own sexuality.

Stiles was tapping the spine of his book against one hand, pressing his lips together. It looked like he wanted to keep talking, but didn’t know what to say or how to get the conversation going. Derek wasn’t usually one for conversation, but he really felt connected to Stiles. He could practically _feel_  his loneliness, his despair.

His loss of hope.

Stiles was convinced he was never getting out of that cell. And that _killed_  Derek. He hated to think that this kid, who hadn’t even had the opportunity to grow up, was locked away and had absolutely no illusions of ever being let out.

“You seem lonely,” Derek said, for lack of anything better to say.

Stiles stared at him for a second, then let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. _“Yeah, you could say that. No one wants to talk to the monster, so no one talks to me.”_

“I’ll talk to you.”

That seemed to surprise him. Stiles just stared for a long while, licked his lips, opened his mouth, closed it. Finally, he said, _“But you won’t know who you’re speaking to.”_

“I feel like I would,” Derek countered.

_“Trust me, you won’t. The Nogitsune is really good.”_

“Maybe I’m better.” He offered Stiles a smile and was pleased to receive a genuine one in return. It was small, but it was there. “I’m not good with people. And I have nothing, and no one. You’re lonely. We make a good pair.”

The other bobbed his head from side to side while he thought about it, lips pressed together, then nodded and pointed a finger at Derek. _“All right, agreed. I’m not gonna say no to some solid entertainment, and God knows I need someone to talk to before I totally lose my mind, but we gotta set up some ground rules.”_

“Okay,” Derek said, amused but also a little impressed. He crossed his arms and nodded to show he was paying attention.

_“Right. So. Ground rules. You can’t ever let me out of this place, even when I’m me and you’re positive I’m me. Never open the door, no matter what, got it?”_

“You don’t need to tell me that,” Derek informed him.

Stiles nodded, seeming satisfied. _“Try your best not to answer any of my questions. You’ll never know if it’s me or the fox, and I’d rather just be left hanging than you tell me something I shouldn’t know.”_ He pointed his finger at Derek again. _“I mean it. Don’t tell me anything you wouldn’t want your worst enemy to know. Anything I know, so does the fox. You can ask me anything you want, talk about whatever you want, but just don’t make it anything personal about you. It knows enough.”_

“Because you seem to know enough. About me.”

He saw Stiles wince at that, the other rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand and licking his lips. _“Yeah. I wasn’t— **exactly**  the most obedient child in the world. I used to sneak into my dad’s study a lot. I don’t really remember most of the stuff I’ve read, but the Nogitsune can kind of, I don’t know, it like, flips through my memories or something. Like a book. It can pull stuff up I don’t even remember knowing. If it’s said anything to you, I’m sorry.”_

Derek shrugged, arms still crossed. He’d mostly gotten over it, and the Nogitsune really only had four or five things to use against him. It had gotten old a few days ago. Only the claustrophobia of the small room underground and the constant discussion of fire still affected him, but not even in the way he was sure the monster wanted. It was tolerable, now.

It would have to be, after ten days of it.

“What happens?” Derek asked, since Stiles seemed to be stumped with more ground rules. The other gave him a confused look, and Derek elaborated. “When the Nogitsune is in control. What happens to you? Where do you go?”

Stiles frowned then, looking at the floor. _“I don’t... really know, actually. I kind of just... It’s like passing out, I guess. I’m here, and then suddenly I’m not, and next thing I know I’m somewhere different. Like, I’ll remember going to bed, and I’ll wake up and be standing by the cell wall. Or I’ll be showering and wake up eating food at the table.”_ He shrugged helplessly and set the book down on the table, crossing his arms and moving a bit closer to the cell wall where Derek was. _“I don’t really know where my mind goes when I’m not the one at the forefront. I’m sure it’s somewhere, I’m sure the fox keeps it locked away, but I couldn’t tell you what happens. I usually don’t even know I’ve gone anywhere until I come back and something’s changed.”_

“That doesn’t sound fun.”

_“I’m used to it.”_ Stiles sounded almost defeated when he said it, and Derek was starting to hate hearing those words. Stiles seemed to be used to a lot of things.

“Your dad said you were sixteen,” Derek prompted. “If you keep losing time, do you know how old you are now?”

_“I estimate it, usually. I’d say I’m like...”_ Stiles looked down at himself, as if trying to figure it out based on his body alone. _“I’m probably about twenty, I’d say? Scott looks about that age, and we’re the same age so, probably around there.”_

“You’re twenty-one.”

_“Really?”_ Stiles sounded surprised, and then looked sad. _“I missed all the good parts of life. Graduation, prom, first time legally drinking. Never had sex.”_ He seemed horrified the second he spoke the words, a flush creeping up his neck, and he waved his hands spastically. _“Forget you heard that! I am **definitely**  not a virgin! I’ve had tons, and tons, and **tons**  of sex!” _

“Not looking the way you did in high school, you didn’t,” Derek said with a small smirk.

Stiles sputtered, insulted, but Derek could tell he was enjoying himself. They weren’t even having an in-depth conversation, but Stiles was so starved for attention that he was loving even just this small banter with someone he didn’t know.

_“I’ll have you know, I had girls **falling**  all over me all the time.”_

“Because you tripped them, I’d imagine.”

A bark of laughter escaped Stiles and he shook his head while sitting down on the floor, grinning up at Derek. Taking the hint, Derek went to grab one of the chairs near the television, not wanting to sit on the cold floor, and then set it down in front of Stiles so they could continue speaking.

He ignored that it was three in the morning.

_“So how long have you been my guard, anyway?”_

Derek didn’t see any danger in answering that question, since it wasn’t anything the Nogitsune didn’t already know, so he said, “Ten days. Well, moving into day eleven, now.”

_“So are you, like, a permanent thing?”_ Stiles squinted. _“I know the pack usually alternates three days each, but you’ve been here for a while.”_

“Your dad gave me this job.” Derek splayed his legs and crossed his arms. He ignored that his crotch was directly eye level for Stiles, it wasn’t like he was naked. He had sweats on, and Stiles was looking up into his face, anyway. “I couldn’t get a job anywhere else, and he and Scott said the pack needed to get back to their own lives.”

_“What about your life?”_ Stiles asked with a frown. Derek hesitated, and Stiles seemed to realise what he’d asked and he threw both hands out in a ‘stop’ motion. _“Don’t answer that! We’ll just leave it at—you can be here more easily than they can.”_

“Something like that,” Derek agreed.

Stiles smiled at him, and God dammit Derek hated that smile.

It was just so open, and bright, and chest-warming. It was such a nice smile. It was crazy someone living in a glass cell, possessed by an evil fox spirit, had it in him to even force a smile, let alone produce a purely genuine one.

Derek felt like it was hard to keep a conversation going when he couldn’t answer any questions, and had a hard time finding some to ask, but Stiles did the best he could with what little Derek gave him. Eventually, Derek asked him about the _Star Wars_ books and got a grin in return.

_“Oh, you’re going to wish you hadn’t asked that.”_

And to be honest, Derek kind of did. Stiles was extremely passionate about _Star Wars_ , and had spent the better part of the morning talking about that. It was fine with Derek, because obviously Stiles was just happy to be able to speak to someone who would listen, and Derek let him get it all out. He made breakfast while Stiles continued on the same topic, and eventually they moved away from that specifically and more towards books and movies in general.

Derek told him about the book he was reading while they ate breakfast, and when Stiles said it sounded interesting, Derek told him he could have it once he was finished with it. Stiles had beamed at him, and Derek hadn’t really known how to react to that and had gone back to asking about other books Stiles had read.

They spent a majority of the day just conversing about nothing. Stiles told him some personal things, though not very many, and Derek made sure to stay well away from anything personal about himself. Once or twice, Stiles asked him a question that could’ve had consequences had Derek answered, but the hesitation each time had caused him to realise exactly what he’d asked and he’d hastily thrown his hands up and ordered Derek not to answer.

All in all, it was an interesting day, and Derek was in the middle of making dinner, listening to Stiles talk about why he loved Neville Longbottom so much in the _Harry Potter_ series, when he felt that same tugging sensation in his stomach. Like someone was pulling something backwards inside him, and then it snapped.

The other was mid-sentence, still yammering on about Neville, but Derek turned to look into the cell and he knew.

He knew this wasn’t Stiles anymore. This was the Nogitsune.

He had no idea how he was so sure, just that he was. The Nogitsune was still flailing its arms like Stiles did, and talking non-stop, eyes bright and smile on its face, but Derek just stared at it with a blank look, and eventually, the smile faded and the speaking ceased.

_“What?”_ it asked, frowning. _“What’s wrong?”_

“Nothing,” Derek informed it, turning back to the stove. “You’re just not Stiles anymore, that’s all.”

Silence from behind him, and then, _“Or maybe I never was.”_

Derek turned, and the other’s features had shifted back into that cruel smile, head tilted and fingers coming out to tap against the glass. Turning back to the stove, Derek finished what he was making and then shut off the fire, divvying it up between his ceramic plate and the Nogitsune’s paper one. He put the pot back on the stove, dropped a fork onto his plate and a plastic spoon onto the other, then picked both up and turned. He went to put his food down by the couch, like always, then went to the pocket and bent down, putting it inside and then shutting the outer door, waiting for the Nogitsune to come and get it.

When it crouched right in front of him, Derek stared hard at it and asked, “Where do you go?”

_“Hm?”_ it asked, taking the food and shutting the door, staring right back. _“Nowhere. Was that a trick question?”_ It tsked and tilted its head, offering Derek a fake pout. _“I told you, Stiles isn’t here anymore.”_

“I think you feed off his own pain,” Derek said, ignoring the other’s words. “I think every time someone doesn’t believe it’s him when it truly is, it cuts deep. It hurts him. And you just feed off it. It’s why you make people think you’re him sometimes. It’s so that when it really is, no one will believe him, and it hurts.”

The Nogitsune just stared at him, tilting its head, and then smiled cruelly. _“I once told Stiles I would leave him alone if he could answer a simple question. I nearly drove him insane. It was when he realised what I was, that he was possessed, that I had taken from him. Do you want to know what I asked him?”_

Derek worried about answering this question, but he wasn’t willing to let himself be scared away. He just stared the Nogitsune in the face, and nodded. That seemed to _delight_  it, and it moved a step closer, food held against itself.

_“Everyone has it, but no one can lose it.”_ It grinned. _“What is it?”_

The first thing that Derek thought of was a mind, but he quickly dismissed it. Everyone could lose their minds, the Nogitsune had even admitted to almost making Stiles lose his, so it couldn’t be that. It had to be something else, something everyone had and couldn’t lose.

_“I like riddles, you see. They show people’s worth. Stiles was actually very good at riddles. He ended up guessing this one correctly after only a short while, sobbing and screaming and covering his ears.”_

“You didn’t let him go.” Derek wasn’t surprised to hear Stiles had guessed it and not been released. The Nogitsune sounded like an asshole.

_“Everyone has it,”_ it repeated, still grinning evilly, _“but no one can lose it. What is it?”_

“Eat your dinner,” Derek said, and turned away.

He went to the couch so he could eat, but the Nogitsune kept screaming the riddle at his back so he ended up pulling out his iPod again and listening to music. He went to bed with his headphones on, because the dumb thing kept shouting the words over and over again.

When he woke up the next morning, he actually had the answer, having thought of it somehow in his sleep. He didn’t say anything though, he just got breakfast ready, ignored the Nogitsune, and went about his day.

Around five, Isaac showed up to relieve him for his three days off. Derek almost didn’t want to bother leaving, knowing he’d be back soon, and that he was pretty used to the damn thing, but he wished Isaac well and started to leave.

Before closing the door, he turned to the Nogitsune, who was staring right back with its head tilted and a cruel smile on its face.

“By the way,” he informed it, “everyone has it, but no one can lose it.”

Those words seemed to delight the Nogitsune, as if it thought Derek had been obsessing about it and was going to beg for the answer. _“What is it?”_

“A shadow,” Derek said, and shut the door.

* * *

During his three days off, Derek spent the entire time looking up riddles. He was kind of impressed with himself for how many of them he guessed right before looking at the answers, but   
he still wanted to be prepared. He had a feeling he’d opened a dangerous door, and by challenging the Nogitsune, he was about to have a really bad next stretch of days.

As predicted, when he returned three days later, the Nogitsune began to hammer him with riddles. Most of them Derek had read and could answer, some he had to figure out on his own, which he always managed, but still got frustrated over. He made sure not to show his frustration though, not wanting to encourage the Nogitsune more than he already had.

The only advantage was that he made sure not to answer riddles _immediately_ , which meant when he knew the answer, it looked like he’d had to think about it, and when he didn’t, he had _time_  to think about it. It meant the Nogitsune didn’t have the ability to mock him when he answered one riddle in a second, and the next in five hours.

Stiles came out a few times during his next twelve days on shift. Derek always knew it was him, no matter what. He was always positive, and he and Stiles had some good conversations, even if they weren’t about anything in particular. Stiles was funny, and energetic, and kind, and Derek could see why so many people missed him. Especially since a majority of them didn’t believe it was him, even when it was.

Derek mentioned the riddles to him at one point, and Stiles’ face shifted into something pained, as if remembering his time close to insanity. Derek asked him about how he’d figured out he was the Nogitsune and Stiles had just shrugged and commented that he kept missing time and finding weird things in his bag, or on his clothes, or his shoes. No one had believed it was him, and it wasn’t until Allison had almost died, and Noshiko and Deaton had done some investigating that they’d finally realised Stiles had been right all along.

_“I killed a lot of people,”_ Stiles whispered, hands clenched together tightly. _“I know it wasn’t **really**  me, that I don’t even remember how they died, or what lead to their deaths, but my body did this.”_

“The Nogitsune did this,” Derek said, trying to bring his spirit back up. He didn’t need to be giving the Nogitsune any more food right now. “You didn’t do anything wrong. And you don’t deserve what’s happening to you.”

Stiles shrugged and sniffed, then said, _“Better me than someone else. Dad wouldn’t have fought so hard to keep them alive. Then again, maybe killing me is the better way to go, but no one will listen to me.”_ He snorted a laugh, but it sounded very wet. _“Not like anyone listens to me at all anymore, except you.”_

“They’re scared of getting hurt,” Derek insisted.

_“And you’re not?”_

Derek weighed his answer very carefully. “I don’t think there’s enough of me left to hurt.”

Stiles didn’t seem to like that answer, if the downturn of his lips was anything to go by, and Derek forced the conversation into safer waters.

Every now and then, he would wake up and know it was Stiles with him, and other times it wasn’t. He tolerated the Nogitsune, at best, but when he was sitting and having honest conversations with Stiles, he actually really liked the time he spent in the underground room. He also knew when the Nogitsune was trying to pretend to be Stiles. He still wasn’t entirely sure _how_  he knew, but there was just that feeling every time, that something wasn’t right, and he always trusted his gut.

He also suspected that the Nogitsune hovered just behind Stiles’ mind whenever Stiles was in the forefront. It always seemed to know and remember things that they’d discussed, and while Stiles had once mentioned he thought the Nogitsune could view his memories, this seemed to be more than that. Yes, the Nogitsune could likely dig through his mind to find things, but it felt different, somehow. Like the Nogitsune was eagerly awaiting a misstep on either Stiles or Derek’s part that it could jump on.

While it hadn’t taken over in the middle of a sentence like it had that second time Derek had ever spoken to Stiles, it still tended to appear unexpectedly, and very unwelcomely. Once, Stiles and Derek had been having a good conversation about the merits of research, and in the space of time it had taken Derek to get himself a drink and come back, he’d suddenly found himself speaking to the Nogitsune impersonating Stiles, and not Stiles himself. While disappointed, he’d been quick to stand right back up from the chair and head towards the couch so he could read.

He occasionally turned on the television for Stiles, since he whined that no one else ever listened to him about it, but usually Stiles just wanted to talk. He also, surprisingly, didn’t like the ice cream in the freezer that the Nogitsune seemed enamoured with. Derek to date still hadn’t given it any, but he had noticed two containers were missing after his second stint of time off, suggesting Malia—who’d been on duty those three days—had really been bribing the shit out of the Nogitsune to shut it up.

It had been the Nogitsune Derek had left to when Malia had shown up to relieve him. The thing was still just as eager as ever to riddle him along, and had called to his retreating back, _“What can fly without wings?”_

To which Derek had immediately replied with, “Time.”

It was during Derek’s third period of twelve days on, when he was halfway through day seven and speaking to Stiles, that Parrish showed up unexpectedly. The door opened, and both Derek and Stiles had turned to it, only for Parrish to stand frozen in place. Derek didn’t know why he was reacting like that at first, but then it occurred to him that he was sitting in a chair right in front of the cell wall, leaning back and casual, with Stiles doing the same on the other side.

“We need to talk,” Parrish said, voice hard and a pissed look on his face. “Now.”

“We can’t leave him alone,” Derek countered, but got to his feet anyway.

“ _It_ will be fine alone for a few minutes,” Parrish snapped, looking livid. “We are having a conversation right now.” He motioned for Derek to hurry up.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Derek walked out of the room, turning to glance over at Stiles, who just shrugged helplessly. Parrish slammed the door behind them, the lock whirring into place. Having Stiles out of sight kind of made Derek uncomfortable, but Parrish getting right in his face killed that feeling instantly.

“What are you doing?” Parrish demanded angrily, glaring at him. “Just _what_  are you _doing_?!”

“Talking to Stiles.”

“That isn’t Stiles!” Parrish shouted in his face, pointing towards the closed door. “That is _not_ Stiles! That is _never_ Stiles! And even when it _is_ , it’s still _not_! You have no idea what that thing is capable of! Stop encouraging it!” Parrish covered his face with both hands, obviously trying to calm down. “Look, Derek, I get it. Stiles is a great guy, and the Nogitsune is _using_  that to get into your head. It’s going to make you care, make you want to keep him safe, and eventually, it’s going to use it against you.”

“It can’t, I won’t open the door,” Derek informed him, somewhat coldly. “And I am well aware of the Nogitsune’s continued presence. Stiles and I don’t talk about—”

“That’s _not_  Stiles!” Parrish insisted, almost desperate.

“It is,” Derek argued back, beginning to lose his temper. “It _is_  Stiles, I _know_  it is! I can tell the difference!”

Parrish’s look then was insulting. Like he thought Derek was a small child. “Oh, you can tell the difference?” he asked quietly, mockingly. “Really? How?” Before Derek could answer, Parrish continued, voice rising once more, and words almost rolling over each other from his speed. “Because of the way it always taps its fingers? Because of the way it tilts its head? Because of the cruel twist of its lips? Or the ability to move silently? Or stare for hours without blinking? Or-or the way it speaks in plural sometimes? Those differences, Derek? Is that what you’ve noticed? We’ve noticed them too!” he shouted the last sentence, and Derek saw his skin beginning to crack, little lines of fire forming along his face and neck, eyes beginning to darken and reflect fire. “You really think you know Stiles better than us? Some of us have known him since he was a kid!”

Derek took a step back, mostly because he didn’t know if Parrish was about to burst into flames, and as most people knew, Derek and fire didn’t get along.

Parrish seemed to notice, and when he looked down at his hands, which were also cracked and showing lines of fire through his skin, he closed his eyes and took a few breaths, trying to calm down. The lines began to fade and after a few seconds, he was back to looking fully human, his eyes opening and normal once more.

“We have seen what this thing can do,” he said quietly, more calmly. “How it can twist everything, and make you think whatever it wants. It has had _years_  to perfect its Stiles impersonation.” Parrish’s mouth turned down slightly when he spoke next. “If the sheriff can’t tell them apart, you sure as hell can’t.”

They were both silent for a long while, staring at one another, and Derek tried to find the words to explain. He tried to figure out how best to tell Parrish that, yes, he _knew_  the Nogitsune was still in there, but he _also_  knew when it was Stiles at the forefront.

“I know what you’re saying,” Derek said quietly. “I understand why this scares you, why you think I don’t know what I’m doing, but it’s different. I _know_  when it’s Stiles—no, listen,” Derek insisted, because Parrish had opened his mouth to interject. “Parrish, I get it. I know how it sounds, but when I’m talking to Stiles, I _know_  it. It’s a-a _feeling_.”

“A feeling?” Parrish asked dryly, his tone clearly showing he didn’t believe a word of what Derek had just said.

“Yes,” he insisted emphatically. “I can’t...” Derek trailed off, rubbing his face and trying to put the thoughts into words. “I _know_  when it’s the Nogitsune pretending. I can tell, there’s a _difference_. It’s like... like a _pull_. There’s just... there’s something _there_.”

He could tell that Parrish wasn’t listening to him. Not really. He was hearing what he was saying, but he wasn’t _listening_. Parrish had long ago lost hope that the boy in the cell would ever come back.

“Look, Derek.” Parrish reached forward, placing one hand on his shoulder. “I like you, okay? You’re a good guy, and you’ve been really great this whole time. You’ve taken the job seriously, you’ve been really good with keeping it in the cell, and all of us have been able to go back to our normal lives since you got here. But you’ve had a lot of repeated exposure, more than any of us have ever had in a row. I think you need a break. Some time away from it.”

Derek slapped his hand off his shoulder, scowling angrily. “I’m telling you, this is _not_  the _same_!”

“And _I’m_  telling _you_  that this is exactly what it _wants_!” Parrish insisted, voice rising once more. “Don’t you get it?! It’s _playing_  you!”

“He’s not!”

Derek wished he’d said ‘it’ instead of ‘he’ just then, because Parrish looked like he wanted to punch him. Instead, he shook his head and moved aside, motioning up the stairs.

“You need to go, Derek. You need some time away from it. Go.” He motioned him away again. “Now. Go right now.”

Derek crossed his arms and didn’t budge, raising both eyebrows. Parrish grit his teeth and gave him a look.

“You go now, Derek, or I tell the sheriff to fire you.”

Derek’s gaze shifted to the door. If he got fired, he wouldn’t be able to stay with Stiles. He wouldn’t be able to prove to people that there _was_  a difference. That Stiles was still _in_  there. He would have nothing, and no one.

And Derek would have nothing and no one, too.

At least right now, they had each other.

He didn’t know how much pull Parrish really had with the sheriff, but he wasn’t willing to risk it.

Returning his gaze to Parrish, Derek glowered at him, but obediently uncrossed his arms and headed for the stairs, climbing them slowly. He turned at the top, but Parrish was waiting for him to leave before going back into the room. Gritting his teeth, Derek turned and typed in the code, swiping his keycard and exiting the outpost. When the door shut behind him with a bang, he heard the door at the bottom of the stairs open and shut.

Derek felt his chest tighten, and almost thought he might be sick. It was still _Stiles_  right now. He could feel it, he could _tell_. Stiles was still in there, and Parrish had just walked in, angry and hurting, and he was going to take it out on who he _thought_  was the Nogitsune. And that _killed_  him. Stiles didn’t deserve this, he didn’t deserve any of this.

He was still fuming while walking down the road towards the loft when he felt the pull in his stomach and the inevitable snap that always followed. He stopped mid-step, staring at the ground, and realised Stiles had retreated once more. The Nogitsune had taken over again.

This was what he _hated_. Because he _knew_  when it was and wasn’t Stiles, but he didn’t know how to _explain_  it. He wasn’t even in the damn room, and he could tell it wasn’t Stiles anymore. And he felt like this knowledge had been there from the beginning. From the moment he’d texted the sheriff, officially agreeing to take the job after having been speaking to all of Stiles’ friends, he’d known. He could tell the fucking difference, and he was pissed as shit over this!

Still angrily stomping down the road, he turned when he heard a car slow beside him and saw Boyd looking out at him. Isaac and Erica were in the back seat. All three had sombre expressions, and Boyd motioned for Derek to get in.

He almost didn’t want to out of spite, but he wasn’t wearing any shoes—something he hoped Parrish hadn’t noticed, otherwise he was an asshole—so he grunted and pulled open the door, falling into the passenger seat. He slammed it loudly, buckled himself in, and then glared out the windshield. Boyd, very wisely, said nothing as he began driving once more.

It was Erica who opened her mouth. He should’ve figured.

“Parrish called and said you were getting chummy with the monster.”

“It was Stiles,” he bit out through gritted teeth, even though he knew they wouldn’t believe him any more than Parrish had.

“That’s what it wants you to think,” Isaac said softly, almost hesitantly. “Derek, we’ve all been there. It plays nice, acts all chummy, makes like it’s Stiles and just wants attention, a little breathing room, and next thing you know it’s stabbing you with a wolfsbane-coated knife and running out the door.”

“I would never let him out,” Derek said angrily, insulted people kept assuming he was that stupid.

“We’ve all said that,” Boyd admitted quietly. “And we all have. Every single one of us. Multiple times. We’ve all opened that door.”

“I’ve been watching the monster for thirty-one days, and I haven’t let it out _once_.”

“What do you want, a medal?” Erica asked dryly. “Thirty-one days? Big deal. We’ve been watching it for _five years_.”

“What Erica means,” Isaac cut in, likely for damage control, “is that you are only just being exposed to what the Nogitsune is capable of. You’ve barely spent any time around it, compared to the rest of us. We know, for now, you’d never let it out, but in the future, trust me, it becomes tempting and eventually you find yourself doing it.”

“I don’t even know where the door is,” he informed them. “So as long as no one tells me where it is, there’s really no risk of that ever happening.”

“Have you mentioned this to the Nogitsune?” Boyd asked sharply, turning to him. Derek shook his head and the other relaxed. “Good. Make sure you never do. If it thinks you know where the door is, all the better.”

Derek knew none of them would listen, or believe him. This was a lost cause, so he just shook his head and turned to glare out the side window, wondering how Stiles could handle this. How could he live his life like this? Consistently being ignored and shunned and insulted because no one believed it was him. When Derek had first been told about the Nogitsune, the others all made it sound like, yes, they knew things were bleak, but there was still hope. There was still that small shred of hope that maybe, just _maybe_ , Stiles could come back. That he could be saved. That maybe he was still in there, somewhere.

Now, after the past few days off, and the multiple conversations he’d been having with Stiles and the rest of Scott’s pack, it was explicitly clear that the only one with any hope whatsoever that Stiles was still in there was the sheriff. He was his father, he loved him, he’d lost his wife. He was so desperate for any hint that Stiles was still alive in there that he would be willing to do anything to get him back.

The car slowed and Derek focussed back on where he was. Realising he’d been driven home, he kicked open the door and climbed out, slamming it hard enough for the passenger-side window to crack in a small spiderweb pattern near the left corner. He didn’t apologise, or thank Boyd for the lift. He just turned and stalked towards the door, entering his home and slamming it behind him.

* * *

Derek was forced to take the remaining five days of work off, along with his usual three, so that he had a total of eight days without seeing Stiles. During the entire time he was off, he could feel the fire returning and snapping away repeatedly. It seemed to happen less and less frequently as the days passed, and a part of him felt like Stiles had been pushing himself forward or the Nogitsune had been pulling itself back while Derek was there.

The first batch of twelve days, Stiles had only come out twice, but the next batch had been more frequent, and this last one—the seven days of it he’d spent there, anyway—had been almost daily. He didn’t stay the entire day, the Nogitsune always pushed its way back to the forefront, but Stiles was around more.

Now, it seemed that with Derek gone, there was almost no point, and Stiles wasn’t bothering to push for it. So the Nogitsune was in control more often, and probably _pretending_  to be Stiles, like an asshole.

Derek hated it. He hated that, as time passed, he felt the warmth of the fire in the base of his spine less often. He hated that Stiles was giving up again. He hated that _no one_ believed him!

It was why he spent his time off doing only two things: researching fox spirit possessions, and talking to various members of the pack on what had been tried to separate the fox and Stiles.

The latter was easier than the former, mostly because everyone in the pack had kept detailed notes on all the different things they had tried. One day during his stint of time off, he’d woken to someone banging on the loft door and had opened it to find Lydia striding in with her computer. She’d made herself comfortable on his sofa and had opened a word document as well as a folder. The folder had a number of video recordings, and the word document had the most meticulous notes Derek had ever seen in his life. He and Lydia had spoken for a number of hours on all the different things that had been done, and she had shown him a few of the videos on some of the items they had tried. It was rather depressing when he saw the list, but he was sure they’d missed _something_. There was no way Stiles was just _stuck_  like this. _Forever_.

No. Derek had to believe there was a way to save him. In fact, he believed it so much that he did something he never thought he could do. It was hard, and it burned his skin to even be anywhere _near_  where he was, but he just grit his teeth, climbed the porch steps, and rang the doorbell.

His heart slammed against his ribs while he waited, hearing movement inside. His hands curled into fists, but he forced himself to take a breath and loosen them, waiting for the door to open.

When it did, the person on the other side froze, staring at Derek as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Hello Derek,” he said cautiously.

“Chris. It’s been a while.”

Derek hadn’t known Chris Argent very well, but because of his secret relationship with Kate, he’d been around enough to have crossed paths with him a few times. While he didn’t trust the man further than he could throw him, Chris had dedicated his life to protecting the innocent from Supernatural beings who threatened to cause them harm.

Well, Stiles was an innocent being possessed by a Supernatural being who threatened to cause him harm. So, to Chris he went.

“It has,” Chris said, still guarded. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m here to talk about Stiles.”

Chris’ entire demeanour seemed to change at those words. He lost a bit of his edge and let out a small breath, almost like a pained sigh. Derek was sure he wasn’t the first to come knocking at the door. He could tell Chris was hesitant to let him in, and truth be told, Derek didn’t really _want_  to go in, but it was clear both of them were trying for Stiles’ sake. So, when Chris stepped back and motioned him into the house, Derek reminded himself that no one would burn down their own home while their daughter was upstairs, and he stepped inside.

They headed for the living room, taking seats on opposite couches. Derek’s skin itched, and he wanted to leave before he got shot, but he found some satisfaction in seeing Chris look just as uncomfortable.

They were both silent for a moment, sizing each other up, and Derek was about to get started on this conversation so he could hurry up and leave, but Chris beat him to it.

“We’ve been tracking those Hunters who were chasing you when you first showed up,” he said, startling Derek a little. He hadn’t known anyone had cared enough to keep track of them.

“Are they still coming for me?” Derek asked, suddenly feeling cornered since he was sitting in a Hunter’s living room.

“As far as I can tell, yes.” Chris rubbed his hands together, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees. “I have some sources keeping watch for them. We’re trying to determine why they’re after you so we can plan accordingly.”

“Because they’re Hunters, and that’s what they do,” Derek said coldly.

Chris didn’t react to his accusation, and instead said, “They’re after _you_  specifically. There’s something about you, Derek Hale, that they really want. We’re still looking into it, but Scott will keep you posted.”

At least he was smart enough to know Derek would never trust him to tell him where he lived.

Though Chris probably already knew. Derek liked to think he didn’t.

“What can you tell me about the thing that possessed Stiles?” he asked, wanting to get the conversation over with so he could leave.

“No more than Noshiko can,” Chris admitted. “Have you spoken to her? She actually _knows_  the fox spirit.”

Derek was somewhat annoyed no one had told him this. A part of him wondered if it was all a ruse to get him and Chris to talk to one another. After all, Derek had been back in Beacon Hills for months now, and he and the Argents still hadn’t crossed paths.

“I wasn’t aware,” Derek said, trying not to bite the words out.

Chris pressed his lips together, then said, “Derek, I don’t think Stiles can be saved.”

“You don’t know that,” he snapped.

“We’ve tried everything we can think of,” Chris insisted. “Derek, you have to understand, when I agreed to help build that cell for him, I did it as a courtesy to the sheriff. The day Stiles’ body gives out, the day the Nogitsune stops eating or taking care of its host, that’s it. We’re not going to ever let it out. It’s in there for life.”

Derek shook his head and stood. Coming to him was a mistake, Chris knew nothing. “I shouldn’t have bothered coming here. Hunters are always looking for a reason to kill.”

He saw Chris scowl at that, but just headed for the door. Before he reached it, Chris was behind him, and he said, “I’m sorry for what Kate did to your family.”

Derek rounded on him, eyes flashing. Chris took a slow step back, hand reaching for something behind him, but not pulling it out.

“Your sister murdered my entire family. You think an apology is going to earn you forgiveness?”

“No, but I can do nothing other than apologise for what she did.”

“You want to make things right with me?” Derek asked sharply. “Then you help me save Stiles. You save him, and _then_  we can talk about forgiveness.”

Pulling open the door, he stormed out of the house, wishing he’d never even bothered going over. He was so angry about everything in his life that he didn’t even know what to do with himself. After that visit, he didn’t know if he could handle any more, but he wanted to talk to Noshiko, so as soon as he calmed down, he sought her out and got the full story on the Nogitsune.

It wasn’t a happy story, and aged the woman quite a bit. He hadn’t realised when he’d first met her that she was over nine-hundred years old. He’d almost told her she looked great for her age, but given the topic of conversation, he decided not to say anything. She told him about the Nogitsune, how it was a dark fox spirit that was older than even her. How it fed off chaos and strife, just as the sheriff said. She admitted she had first met it a number of years ago, but had thought back then that she had killed it.

“Perhaps it isn’t something that _can_  be killed,” she said with a sigh. “Or perhaps it is intent on following me. Maybe what happened to Stiles happened because of me.”

Derek wished it was easy enough to blame her, but he already knew it was a various number of factors that had led to Stiles’ possession. He just listened to her, getting angry but managing to keep his temper in check with her, when she said Stiles couldn’t be saved.

Derek went to Deaton next, despite finding the Druid to be full of mystery and a little creepy. While not as quick to leave Stiles for dead, he did comment that they had tried everything that everyone he knew could think of. So far, nothing had worked, and after the first three years, the attempts had begun to diminish. Most of the pack had accepted that Stiles was never coming back, but Derek knew better. He was still _in_  there. He was still listening to them, being with them, trying to make the most of his imprisonment. Derek just wanted him to be all right, in the end. He wanted Stiles to have his life back. He’d already lost so much of it, he didn’t deserve to lose it _entirely_.

He returned to the loft feeling more depressed than when he’d started all this research, but he wasn’t giving up. He would find something they hadn’t tried, and it _would_  work, he was sure of it.

The last day of his time off, he clenched his jaw while texting the sheriff, then sat staring at his phone for a good five minutes while awaiting a reply.

**[Derek]**  
Am I going to work tomorrow?

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the sheriff replied.

**[Sheriff Stilinski]**  
Yes.

Derek set his phone down, then stood to get ready for bed.

* * *

When he returned to the outpost the next day, Derek didn’t know what he should expect. Hostility, animosity, more anger from whoever was down there. As it turned out, he received none of that. When he opened the door at the bottom, he found Scott standing in the kitchen washing dishes. He turned to nod at Derek when he entered, but said nothing else while he continued to work.

_“The Big Bad Wolf returns,”_ the Nogitsune said cheerfully from its prison. _“How wonderful. And here I thought daddy was too scared to have you anywhere near us anymore.”_ It turned to Scott, speaking to his back, despite the fact it wouldn’t get a response. _“He believes, you know. When I pretend. Derek Hale, the most gullible and trusting of all the Hales. He believes when I say I’m Stiles. You’d think he’d know better. After all,”_ it turned back to Derek and smiled cruelly, _“isn’t that how you got mommy and daddy killed?”_

Derek heard Scott’s movements pause at the sink, and while the words hurt, Derek knew his family’s death was his fault. The Nogitsune wasn’t saying anything to him that he didn’t already say to himself.

“Glad you haven’t lost your mean streak, I thought Parrish might’ve beaten it out of you.” Derek moved to set a plastic bag of new books down on the couch. No one had moved it since his first day there, when he’d shifted it around the cell so it was facing the door, instead. He figured the others just used one of the chairs to watch TV. After all, Derek was the one around the most often, it made sense to leave things as they were.

_“Parrish would never touch me.”_ The Nogitsune ran both hands up along its neck and over its cheeks, then back down and along its chest. It was incredibly sensual, and it was clear the Nogitsune was trying to make Derek uncomfortable, but it didn’t work. Derek fully believed that if Stiles had done that, he’d have been all awkward and embarrassed, and it would’ve made it a hundred times sexier.

Something which was going to be a problem, soon, because Derek was _really_  starting to become attracted to Stiles. Not just how he looked, but _Stiles_  himself, the times where he managed to peek out from behind the monster possessing him.

Scott had finished at the sink, and began walking over to Derek. He was watching him with a guarded look on his face, as if wondering what Derek was playing at, but he said nothing when he stopped beside him. Then, he turned to look into the cell, both he and Derek staring at the monster wearing an innocent person’s face.

_“Are we turning into a show? How exciting.”_ The Nogitsune leaned forward, hands pressed against the glass, and cruel twist to its lips. _“Did you know? I am what most people fear. I can strike without warning, for I cannot be stopped. Every day, I do things to people that rip apart the hearts of their loved ones.”_

Derek saw Scott clench his jaw, but he didn’t understand. It looked like Scott thought the Nogitsune was just stating a fact, but that wasn’t what this was. Normally, Derek would wait before answering, but that would be a bad idea right now, with Scott beside him.

So he asked, “What are you?” Scott turned to him, but he kept his gaze on the monster. “Death.”

_“Oh, I missed you, Derek Hale. The fun I can have with you.”_ The Nogitsune pushed away from the cell wall and began walking along its length, fingers of its right hand out and tapping along the smooth surface. _“Run along, **Scotty**. Time for the best player in the game to take your place.”_

“Can I talk to you?” Scott said, then turned towards the thumbprint reader. The door clicked and Scott pulled it open, holding it and waiting for Derek to exit with him. He sighed internally but made sure not to react badly in front of the Alpha, and followed him out.

As the door closed, he said, “For people who were adamant I couldn’t leave it alone for even a second, you all seem pretty okay with coming out into the stairwell for a chat.”

“We can both hear him,” was Scott’s retort. Which was true, because the damn thing was now humming a low, creepy tune on the other side of the door.

“Your turn to tell me off?” Derek asked, crossing his arms and scowling.

Scott watched him for a moment, then sighed and shook his head. “Look, I know better than most people how hard it can be to see the thing and think ‘Stiles.’ I know sometimes it’s easier to just believe it’s him, because it hurts less. I was like that, too. At the beginning.” He turned to look at the door, reaching up to hit one fist lightly against it. “Stiles was like my brother. He was the most important person to me, barring my mom. Losing him felt like losing a piece of myself, and for five years, I haven’t been able to come to terms with that. Sometimes, it’s easier to let the thing pretend it’s him, and to believe it. Sometimes, it’s harder.” He let his hand slide off and turned to Derek. “All I’m saying is be careful. Believe, if you want. Don’t, if that’s easier. But just always remember that whether you’re speaking to Stiles or not, the thing is still in there, and there’s nothing we can do about it. Even if Stiles takes over every now and then, we can never let him out of there. That’s just the reality of the situation.”

Scott patted him on the shoulder while he walked past him to head up the stairs.

“Trust me, Derek, nobody wishes it was Stiles more than me.”

Derek felt inclined to believe that wasn’t true, as he was sure the sheriff wished that far more than Scott did, but he chose not to comment on it. He just typed the code in and scanned his thumb so he could re-enter the room, and shut the door firmly behind him. He heard the door at the top open and close, confirming Scott’s exit from the outpost.

_“Poor little Stiles,”_ the Nogitsune said. Derek turned to glare at it, but it just shrugged helplessly, grinning broadly. It wasn’t a kind look. _“He shouldn’t have made it so **easy**  to take him over if he didn’t want to spend his life like this.”_

Derek ignored the thing in the cell and went to get his stuff organised again. The bed had been stripped and re-made, as was the norm when there was a changing of the guard. He unloaded his new books onto his dresser, and sorted through them. He’d brought two that he thought Stiles might like and put them into the bottom drawer of the other’s dresser.

Once that was done, he went about his day as normal. The Nogitsune was still there for the entire day, and when Derek woke up the next morning, he was actually disappointed to find it was still the monster.

The fox tried a number of times to pretend to be Stiles, but Derek didn’t have the patience to listen when he knew it was pretending, so he just ignored it and pulled his headphones back on, reading through an entire book in one day.

It was on day five of his twelve day cycle, while he was standing at the stove making pancakes, that he felt the warmth return to the base of his spine and he paused in what he was doing.

Stiles was back.

He didn’t turn, though. He could tell that the other was still sleeping, but it was him once more. It made him think of what Scott had said to him, about how sometimes it was easier to just pretend it was him, and sometimes it wasn’t. The problem was, for Derek, he _knew_  it was Stiles. Because during his time off, while he’d been feeling the fire come and go, he realised _why_  he recognized the feeling. It was something he had felt during his youth and, to a lesser extent, when he’d been with Laura in New York. It was something he had lost when she’d died, and only regained once he’d made an unconscious connection to Stiles.

Pack.

It was a link to pack.

He knew that Scott and the others couldn’t feel it, because even though Stiles _was_  their pack, they were all bitten. But Derek was a born wolf, and things were different for them. They had tangible links between themselves and all members of their pack. When Derek had been younger, and surrounded by his family, he’d had so many links to the rest of his pack. The humans and bitten couldn’t feel them, but they were still there. Derek remembered sleeping at night and counting them all, smiling to himself and proud of his large pack. The pack his mother had created.

As he grew older, the pack bonds stopped being as precious, but he still found comfort in knowing they were there.

The day of the fire, it had been agonising. He had been able to feel when every single member of the pack save Laura had died. Every little line connecting him to a member of his pack had just _snapped_ , and it left behind a cold, empty space where warmth and safety had once been. One by one, they all snapped, until he was left with only the smallest of flames in the base of his spine, connecting him to Laura, and Laura to him.

And then Laura had died, and he’d lost the warmth, and for a time he’d been so used to not having it that he’d forgotten what it felt like. What it meant to have someone so connected that he could feel them, no matter where he was. It hadn’t been until that forced stint of time off that he’d realised it was a pack bond. He had felt so connected to Stiles, because of how lonely he was, how sad he was, how upended his life had become, that he’d unconsciously formed a pack bond with him before even having _met_  him.

It was the feeling he’d been trying to describe to Parrish, and had failed to do, because he hadn’t recognised it for what it was at the time. But now, he knew. It was a pack bond. With Stiles.

Every time the Nogitsune took over, it was essentially destroying Stiles, forcing him back, pushing him away. As a result, the pack bond was snapping. It was breaking. But whenever Stiles was back, whenever it was _truly_  him, the bond returned with him.

It was a truly disorienting feeling, because it was the same, but also different. The way the pack bond had snapped back when his family had died had been painful, and it had ripped a piece of him away with it. But with Stiles, when it snapped, it wasn’t as painful. It was more of an uncomfortable feeling. Just a small nudge in the base of his spine, the fire going out, a brief and sharp pain that lasted but a second. It was why he hadn’t recognised it for so long. If it had been the same agony as the snapping of his family’s bonds, he’d have known what it was instantly.

But now, he had a link with Stiles. A pack bond. Something only he could have with another in Beacon Hills, because he was the only born wolf who still lived there.

It was also how he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, with every fibre of his being, that the voice that spoke behind him belonged to _Stiles_.

There was rustling, like he was rolling over in bed. A small pause, and then he said, very softly, and hesitantly, _“Hey Derek.”_

He didn’t respond, at first. He was trying to figure out how to tell Stiles that he _knew_. That he could _tell_. He didn’t want to tell him about the pack bonds, because then the Nogitsune would know it, too, and he didn’t want to share that kind of thing with it. But he wanted Stiles to know that he would never, _ever_  be wrong. He would always be able to tell the difference between _Stiles_ and the _fox_.

His silence stretched for too long, because after a moment, he heard a soft sigh on the other side of the cell wall, and Stiles rolled back over. When Derek turned to glance over his shoulder, the other was lying on his side, back to Derek, curled in a ball. Even with pancakes invading his olfactory system, he could still smell the sadness, bitterness and loneliness emanating from Stiles as if he were standing right next to him.

The last time Stiles had seen Derek, he had been pulled out of the room and reprimanded by Parrish. Stiles was probably assuming Derek was never going to speak to him again. Was never going to believe it was him ever again.

Pulling the pan off the fire so he didn’t burn any pancakes, Derek turned off the flame, wiped his hands off on his jeans, and walked over to the cell wall closest to him, staring in at Stiles’ miserable form.

“When I was ten years old,” he said, seeing Stiles tense slightly, “my sister found out my greatest fear. I didn’t plan for it, but she did, and it wa—”

Stiles had propelled himself off the bed so quickly he almost fell flat on his face. He managed to catch himself on one hand, but then fell to his knees in the middle of the cell, eyes wide and staring at the floor, hands covering his ears.

_“What are you doing?! What are you doing?! Stop! Shut up! Shut **up**! Don’t say anything else! Fuck! **Fuck**! Shut up, shut up! What are you doing?!”_

Derek watched him, kneeling on the ground, eyes wide at first, and then clenched shut tightly, as if worried he would read Derek’s lips despite the fact he’d stopped speaking. Stiles continued to scream at him to shut up, not say another word, not share this personal information with him. He was almost hysterical, and Derek really hoped that it meant he understood. Derek hadn’t been afraid to say anything just then, because he’d known, he’d _known_  that Stiles was going to stop him.

Crouching slightly so they were at eye level, he watched Stiles in silence while the other breathed hard, eyes still shut and hands over his ears. It seemed to take him a long time to calm down, but eventually, he glanced up, eyes opening, chest rising and falling rapidly. Derek just stared back at him easily, waiting for him to be ready, waiting for him to drop his hands.

It looked like Stiles didn’t want to, he looked scared, as if he truly believed that Derek was going to continue where he’d left off. Eventually though, when it became clear Derek wasn’t going to move until he got to speak, Stiles hesitantly lowered his hands. His eyes were still wide and scared, and he kept his hands hovering by his ears, but he at least listened when Derek spoke.

“There’s a difference,” Derek told him quietly. “I know it’s still there, the Nogitsune, lurking under the surface. I know it can hear me. But when it’s _you_ , when you’re _Stiles_ , I _know_. There is a difference.”

Stiles’ hands were shaking, and it looked like he was going to start crying. Because while Derek had always made it clear he knew there was a difference, a part of Stiles had probably always believed that Derek was just humouring him. That Derek was acting this same way with the Nogitsune when it pretended. But now, today, with what he’d just said, and how Stiles had stopped him, it looked like finally, Stiles believed Derek as much as Derek believed Stiles.

_“How can you be sure?”_ he asked quietly, one tear slipping free, but he made no move to brush it away.

Derek placed one hand against the cell wall, and pressed his forehead to the hard plexiglass, staring at Stiles intently.

“I have never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”

* * *

Derek had to be careful with how familiar he acted with Stiles, not because he didn’t _want_  to, but because Parrish had made it a habit to show up unannounced. Derek usually heard him arriving, when the door at the top opened, but just to be safe in case he managed to show up without a sound, Derek had stopped sitting right in front of the cell like he used to.

He and Stiles would still converse, but Derek would usually stay on the couch, sitting with his back against the armrest and a book on his lap. It allowed him to turn his head and speak to Stiles, who usually sat on his bed, but also offered him a quick escape if the door suddenly opened. All Derek had to do was turn his head back to his book and it would look like he’d been reading all along. Parrish didn’t have his hearing, he wouldn’t know until the door at the bottom opened that they’d been speaking at all, and Derek always made sure that they’d stopped by then.

The Nogitsune and Stiles spent an almost equal amount of time at the forefront. Derek just read when it was the monster, but he and Stiles spoke when it was him. Derek made an effort to cook him food that he liked, and just threw together whatever he wanted himself when it was the Nogitsune. When his twelve days were up and Erica showed up to relieve him, Derek left to head home, but he felt anxious and uncomfortable whenever he felt the pack bond flare up, because Stiles was there alone with someone who didn’t believe it was him.

He ended up showing up in the middle of the second day he had off and told Erica she could go. She insisted he needed time off, but he said he was fine and she reluctantly left. Parrish showed up half an hour later, and sat in one of the chairs watching television and scowling angrily while Stiles and Derek just smiled to each other behind his back and made faces at him.

Well, Stiles made faces, Derek just tried hard not to laugh at them, so that Parrish wouldn’t turn around and catch them. When the Nogitsune ended up pushing forward again, it was easier for Derek to ignore it, and Parrish eventually left the following day.

It took Stiles three more days to come back, and Derek had to wonder if it was because he pushed, or because the Nogitsune let him. After all, the thing now knew that Derek could tell the difference. To date, he knew he hadn’t been wrong, which meant the monster knew it, too. It was probably chomping at the bit angrily, trying to figure out what Derek could see that the others couldn’t.

On day six, the Nogitsune was back while Derek was sitting watching television and eating dinner. He didn’t often watch TV, but Stiles had been telling him about a show called _Firefly_  that he really liked, and the SyFy channel was doing a marathon, so he’d decided to watch it since the other was buried in the back of his own mind.

For the most part, he was ignoring the Nogitsune, because he hated the damn thing, but when it said something he hadn’t expected, it made him pause.

Unfortunately, it was noticed.

_“He likes you, you know. The human. **Stiles**. And not in a friend way, either. You’re the first person to have shown him any kindness in five years. And you’re easy on the eyes, especially when you wander around naked. He tries so very hard not to look, but he’s peeked a few times. He thinks you have a very nice dick.” _

Derek picked up the remote and increased the volume on the television, trying to block the Nogitsune out, but that had been a mistake, because now it knew it was affecting him.

_“Do you know he has dreams about you? Very embarrassing ones, too. He wakes up worried you’ll find out sometimes. It’s not easy to jerk off when the object of your affections is right there, always watching, always noticing. Actually, it’s not easy for a horny young man to jerk off at **all**  when trapped in a transparent prison. I kind of feel sorry for him.” _

Derek didn’t want to turn around. He didn’t. He was determined _not_  to. But he had no choice, because he heard a zipper and instantly whipped around, horrified.

The Nogitsune was pulling down its pants, sliding them down strong thighs, and then pushing the boxers down to join them. Its dick was already hard and standing at attention, and one by one, it wrapped long fingers around it.

“Stop it.” Derek hadn’t meant for the words to escape him, but he was horrified. Stiles already lived a life under observation. When he slept, when he ate, when he showered, used the bathroom, did _anything_ , someone was there. Someone was watching, could see him. He didn’t have a single moment to himself to do anything, especially not something like this.

Derek had smelled the arousal on Stiles before. He knew he got turned on sometimes, he knew he wanted to take care of his problem in the mornings, but he never did. Because Stiles evidently drew the line somewhere, and jerking off in front of others was most likely it.

But the Nogitsune didn’t care. It had probably noticed how hard Stiles had been trying to stop himself from jerking off. It most certainly knew how awkward it must be for Stiles to be attracted to Derek, given they were virtually _always_  together, and often saw one another naked.

Derek had been attracted to Stiles for a while, but even if he’d wanted to jerk off, he could. He had days off, he could close the bathroom door in the room, he had the ability to jerk off to his heart’s content.

Stiles didn’t have that. All he had was his pride, and now, the Nogitsune was taking that from him, too.

_“He’s wanted this for so long, you know,”_ the Nogitsune said, cruel smile on its face while its hand continued to stroke, increasing in speed. Derek forced himself not to look. _“To jerk off thinking about you, looking at you. He wants you to fuck him. He thinks you’d be good at it, too. Push his face down into his pillow, hips pistoning, dick sliding in and out of his hole.”_

“Shut _up_!” Derek insisted, dropping his food on the couch, not caring that it spilled, and moving around the couch. “You shut your _fucking_  mouth!”

One hand pressed against the cell wall and the Nogitsune’s eyes fluttered shut, a groan sliding up its throat. It bowed its head, hand still working furiously, sliding up and down the length it held. Another groan, chest rising and falling.

_“Oh, the humiliation,”_ it said, glancing up to grin at Derek, who’d moved around the couch, but was still keeping his distance. _“Imagine how he’s going to feel when he finds out.”_

“Stop it,” Derek snarled, and despite knowing better, he moved up to the cell wall, eyes flashing blue, fangs in his mouth and chops lengthening. “You fucking _stop it_!”

The Nogitsune’s eyes rolled into the back of its head and it groaned again, breathing hard and fogging up the transparent wall that separated them. _“Fuck, so close. We’re so close.”_

Derek slammed one fist against the window and shouted, “I said _stop_!” just as cum splattered against the cell wall and a warmth curled into the base of his spine.

_No,_  Derek thought, horror filling him when the body on the other side stilled instantly. _No, no! **Please** , no!_

Brown eyes slowly opened, head tilted down and staring at the hand still wrapped around his dick. Slowly, he raised his head, shame and horror and _agony_  etched onto his face. He locked eyes with Derek, who was still standing there, wolfed out and furious, but also horrified.

Because this wasn’t right. This wasn’t right at all.

“Stiles—”

The other turned away instantly, pulling his boxers and pants back up with shaky hands. Derek could hear him cursing while he struggled to get the button done and the zipper up, then seemed to give up and just stood there, back to Derek, breathing hard. For a long moment, neither spoke, but Derek could see how upset he was. He could smell his anguish. He just wanted to make it go away. Wanted to tell him it was all right, it was fine, it didn’t matter.

But he knew it did. To Stiles, it _did_  matter. Because this had been done without his knowledge, without his consent, and even though Derek hadn’t watched, even though he’d kept his furious gaze locked on the Nogitsune’s face, it didn’t change the fact that it had happened. That Stiles’ hand had been wrapped around his dick, and he’d jerked himself off in front of Derek, who he apparently liked.

And even if he didn’t, that didn’t make the situation any better.

“Stiles—”

_“Can you just—”_ Stiles held one hand up, then clenched it into a fist, shook it once, and let it fall back to his side. _“Don’t talk. Please. Just-just go watch TV or something. **Please**.”_

His voice broke on the final word, and Derek didn’t know how to fix this. He didn’t know how to make this better, and that _killed_  him. He wanted to stand there and insist it was okay, it was fine, he had nothing to be embarrassed about, but he knew that wouldn’t help. Stiles had asked him to step away, so he silently obeyed, turning and moving back to the couch. He bent to clean up the mess he’d made, and was about to head for the kitchen to grab some paper towels, but he heard Stiles pulling off his clothes with angry jerks and then the shower turned on. Derek didn’t want to turn around while Stiles was naked, so he just sat on the couch and stared at the TV without really seeing it.

Beneath the sound of the vent and water hitting the edges of the small room within the prison, he could hear Stiles breathing hard, and thought he might be having a panic attack. He knew he shouldn’t turn, but he did anyway, just to make sure Stiles was okay.

The other was sitting on the floor in his little shower, back against the cell wall, knees pulled to his chest, forehead against them, and both hands up and over his head, buried in his hair. His hands were clenched in the strands, and his breathing was erratic as the water beat down on him, and Derek wanted nothing more than to hold him. Just phase right through the cell wall and wrap him in his arms. Tell him everything was okay, that he was going to be okay, that they would figure this all out.

He knew Stiles had told him to go, to not speak, to disappear, but he couldn’t do that. Not when Stiles was hurting so badly it was making Derek choke. He had to do something.

Standing, he moved towards the cell wall and crouched beside where Stiles was. The bathroom was in a corner, so Stiles had his back against one wall, but Derek crouched around the other side of it so he could see his face when—if—he finally raised it.

“Stiles,” he said quietly, one hand brushing lightly at the cell wall. “Stiles, I’m sorry. I tried to stop it, but... I’m sorry.”

Stiles said nothing, face still buried against his knees and fingers clenched between wet strands. Derek sighed and let his forehead hit the cell wall lightly.

“I’m going to fix this,” he promised.

_“Nothing can fix this,”_ Stiles insisted, misery laced into every word. _“My life was ruined the day it took over.”_ He looked up then, hands sliding from his hair, and turned to Derek. _“Can you just kill me? Please. Please just... I can’t anymore.”_ Derek knew some of the wetness on Stiles’ face wasn’t the water from the shower, and it made his chest _ache_. _“I can’t... I can’t do this anymore. I can’t live like this anymore. **Please** , Derek. Just... You’re the only one who can, so **please**.” _

Derek hated seeing him like this. Upset, hopeless, broken. He pressed his forehead harder against the cell wall.

“No,” he whispered. “I can’t.”

_“You can.”_ Stiles sniffed and shifted so he was on his knees, facing Derek. _“You can do it, Derek. Just hit the button, close the vents. People open the vents again when the Kanima venom’s in my system, but you can just keep it closed. Just keep it closed, Derek, and I can... I won’t be able to breathe. It’ll be like falling asleep. I won’t even notice.”_ He pressed both hands to the cell wall, staring out at him, looking so desperate it hurt. _“Please, Derek. I know you can do this.”_

“I can’t,” Derek repeated, moving his hand so he could brush his thumb lightly over the glass where Stiles’ cheek was. “I can’t, Stiles. Because I can’t lose you.”

_“Why?”_ Stiles demanded, looking agonized. _“Derek—”_

“I’m in love with you, Stiles.”

Even over all the other sounds in the room—the fridge, the vent, the shower running—Derek heard it. The small intake of breath, so slight it would’ve been missed by anyone else. But Derek knew Stiles better than anyone else did, now. He _knew_  him, he was so attuned to everything about him. So he heard it.

Stiles’ face twisted into something unpleasant, a mix of pain and rage and horror.

_“Why would you... Derek, **why would you say that**?!”_ Stiles jerked away from the cell wall and got to his feet, staring down at him, horrified and angry all at once. _“Now it knows! Now it knows, too! Don’t you see that?! Why would you tell me that?! What the hell is wrong with you?! **How could you say that to me**?!”_

“Stiles—” Derek stood, trying to calm him down, but the other turned away from him and began screaming. He didn’t say any words, he just screamed, pulling at his hair, bent over double. He screamed, and screamed, and Derek thought he might lose his voice when the tugging in his spine snapped and the screaming stopped. Slowly, the Nogitsune straightened and turned to Derek, malicious smile on its face.

_“Thank you, Derek. That was quite the reaction.”_ It let one hand slide down along Stiles’ wet torso, walking back towards the shower and turning the water off. _“I think you might have broken him.”_

Derek scowled at it, opening his mouth to say something, when his eyes caught what the Nogitsune was doing when it turned to walk away. One hand had moved to the back of its neck, digging its nails into the skin, and something occurred to him. Derek stood there staring for a few seconds while his brain worked and he realised that, of all the things, of every single method the others had tried, there was one they hadn’t.

Holy shit, there was one they _hadn’t_!

Derek pulled out his phone, turning his back to the cell, and dialled a number. He didn’t know what time it was, but he also didn’t care.

Boyd answered on the second ring.

_“Derek? Is everything okay.”_

“I need you to come take over. I have to talk to the sheriff, and I can’t do it with it listening.”

_“Sure,”_  Boyd said, sounding worried. _“Is everything okay?”_

“I don’t know yet.” Derek turned to watch the Nogitsune, who was staring at him with its head cocked and a curious look on its face. “Just hurry up and get here.”

Derek hung up.

* * *

He had nothing but bad memories of the sheriff’s department, up to and including his last visit there when he’d finally learned what the evil everyone in town was afraid of was. Even so, Derek still climbed the stairs two at a time and hurried into the station. A man he didn’t know was at the front desk, and he told him he needed to speak to the sheriff immediately. It looked like the officer was going to jerk him around, so he just said that if the man didn’t want a Code Black to deal with, he better get off his ass.

He’d never seen someone move so fast in his life.

The sheriff exited his office and motioned Derek over, the man heading quickly into the bull pen and through the desks towards the office. He walked into it and shut the door behind him, the sheriff taking a seat with a groan. He looked exhausted, and aged, and Derek knew it wasn’t just because of his job.

“Trying to give my deputy a heart attack?” the sheriff asked, forcing a small smile. “Boyd called before he headed over to say you’d asked him to cover for you. I’m surprised it took you this long to need a break from it.”

“I think I know how to save Stiles.” Derek hadn’t exactly meant to blurt it out, but he didn’t want to sit there and force small talk before getting to the main point of his visit. He could _save_  Stiles. He knew how to separate them—well, he was pretty sure, at least—and he wanted to start working on this as soon as possible.

The second the words left his mouth, the sheriff’s face closed off and his jaw clenched. “Don’t,” he said, voice low and dangerous.

“Sheriff, I understand, but there’s a—”

“Don’t!” The sheriff was on his feet, bearing down on Derek. For a human, he was incredibly intimidating, and it forced Derek’s mouth shut. “Whatever you’re thinking, we have _tried_ it,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “It has been five years, Derek. Five years since that thing took my son. We have tried everything you can think of, everything you can _dream_ of. We’ve tried it _all_ , Derek, and it didn’t _work_.” His voice broke on the last word, and Derek felt his hope dissipating as he sat there. He’d thought that the sheriff was the last one to hold onto any shred of hope that his son could be saved, that he would come back. He’d thought he could use that desperate hope the sheriff clung to so tightly to convince the others to go along with this.

But he’d been wrong. The sheriff had no hope left.

The sheriff had completely given up.

It wasn’t what he’d been expecting, and now he didn’t know what to do, other than attack him for it.

“So you’re just giving up, then?” he asked coldly. “You’re just leaving Stiles like that?”

The sheriff gave him a sharp look. “You haven’t known him long enough to talk to me that way, son. I was the last person to give up, the last one to insist he couldn’t be saved anymore. After trying everything for years, sometimes the good guys don’t win. Sometimes you have to accept defeat.”

Derek felt like he was going to be sick. If he couldn’t get him to listen, then Stiles would _really_  be stuck like that forever.

And it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t _fair_!

The sheriff came around the desk and placed one hand on his shoulder, looking sad. “We find our peace with the knowledge that Supernatural beings are too scared of it to come near Beacon Hills. A small consolation for what was taken from us, but it’s all I have left of my son. I’ll take it.”

Derek stood, the sheriff taking a startled step back, and turned to him. “Sheriff, I’m telling you, we can get him back, if you’ll just list—”

The man’s faced closed off entirely, and now he just looked pissed. “Get out,” he said, cutting Derek off mid-word.

“Sheriff, _please_!”

“Get out!” He stormed to his door and threw it open, turning to glare at Derek.

Clenching his jaw, and knowing he wasn’t going to convince him, he had no choice but to leave. He didn’t know what else to do, because if he couldn’t convince the sheriff, he couldn’t convince _anyone_. He’d been banking on the man’s desire to try one more thing, to just _try_ , but he wouldn’t. And if he wasn’t willing to try, then nobody would be.

Derek stormed down the station stairs angrily, and almost walked into Chris Argent. He muttered a grunt of an apology and side-stepped him, but the man moved into his path once more.

“Derek, we need to talk.”

“Now’s not a good time.”

“If you want to stay alive, now’s the _best_  time.”

Derek growled low in his throat and flashed his eyes. “Are you _threatening_  me?”

Chris raised both hands in surrender, showing he was unarmed, and said, “No, I’m not. But those Hunters that were after you are back. They crossed the town border a couple minutes ago. Scott’s on his way here to pick you up and take you back to the Nogitsune. It’s the safest place for you right now.”

Derek had spent so much time worrying about Stiles that he’d completely forgotten how he’d ended up back in Beacon Hills in the first place. The Hunters that had chased him and Laura. That had eventually caught up and killed his sister. That he’d been running from for the better part of three years. The ones Chris had said he’d been keeping an eye on and, apparently, truly _had_  been keeping an eye on.

“They’re here?” he asked, voice low.

Chris nodded, looking around, as if worried they would magically appear out of nowhere. “My sources were finally able to determine what they’re after. Why they’re trying to kill you.”

“Because that’s what Hunters do?” he sneered coldly, just like he’d said when this discussion had previously come up.

Chris could obviously tell he was in a bad mood, because just like last time, he frowned unhappily, but didn’t comment on his tone.

“The Hales can full shift.”

“What?” Derek asked, some of his anger dissipating, confusion setting in.

“Your mother, Talia. She could turn into a wolf, couldn’t she?”

Derek remembered the first time he’d seen it. His mother walking out onto the grass of their backyard, removing her clothes and letting them pool at her feet. She’d stood motionless for so long he wasn’t sure what she was doing at first, but then her muscles had shifted and her bones had snapped, and she twisted and lowered herself to her hands and knees. Before long, a large black wolf had been standing where his mother had been, and she’d trotted off into the woods to survey her territory.

“My mom was the only one who could do that,” Derek insisted. “That has nothing to do with me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Chris said quietly. “Deaton and I have spoken about it at length. Your family has the gene, it was passed down. Your mother is the only one you’ve ever _seen_  do it, but it’s a gift all Hales have in time. And it’s dangerous for Hunters, because humans are not allowed to hunt wolves for sport, and knowing a Hale is alive and has this talent...”

“They’re scared,” Derek filled in the blank. “They’re worried that if they come after me and I shift and merge with a wolf pack, a _real_  wolf pack, they won’t be able to get to me and I can continue wreaking havoc on the world in all my Werewolf glory.”

Chris sighed at his tone, but didn’t contradict him. “I’ll see what I can do about the Hunters. I’m here to see the sheriff now, but we need you back at the outpost before you’re spotted. We’d rather keep this civil, but we protect our own. If they start something with you, we’re not going to hesitate to end it.”

As if on cue, a car pulled up to the curb and Scott leaned over to look out the passenger window. Derek recognised the car as belonging to Melissa, Scott’s mother, but he didn’t say anything. He just started past Chris, then paused. He grunted a thanks, which hurt to say because fuck the Argents, but so far Chris seemed to be all right for a murderer, so he deserved to be thanked.

Derek climbed into the car and slammed the door, Scott pulling away from the curb and starting the drive towards the preserve. Neither of them spoke, both looking out the windshield in silence and watching the scenery go by around them. When they reached the forest, the road became more uneven, and Derek felt his teeth rattling in his mouth.

He didn’t want to go back to the room right now. Not with Stiles as upset as he was. Derek hadn’t felt him come back out yet, but he didn’t want to be there when he did. He was so upset, and pissed, and just... broken.

The Nogitsune had said Derek had broken him, and to be honest, he was actually worried the monster wasn’t wrong. Derek probably shouldn’t have said what he did, but he couldn’t stop himself. Stiles thought Derek would be able to kill him? That he would feel nothing? That was bullshit.

Derek would be dead, too, if he killed Stiles. Everyone he loved had died, everyone he cared about. He had nothing and no one.

Or rather, he’d _had_  nothing and no one. But now, he had Stiles.

He had Stiles, and he couldn’t lose him. He couldn’t.

He _couldn’t_.

The car stopped, and Derek started to reach for his seatbelt so he could exit, but he looked up and saw they weren’t at the outpost.

They were at his old home, the charred and burned remains of the Hale house.

Frowning, he turned to look at Scott, confused, but the other just let out a slow breath, hands tightening around the steering wheel, and then he looked at Derek.

“You had an idea.”

Derek blinked. “What?”

“You told the sheriff you had an idea,” he said, shifting the car into park and turning to him fully. “What was it?”

Derek stared at Scott for a few long seconds, trying to confirm he’d actually heard what he thought he had. Scott was asking him what the idea was. Scott believed there was still a chance to save Stiles.

He’d been wrong. Derek had been _wrong_. The sheriff had been wrong, too. The last one to lose hope wasn’t the sheriff.

It was Scott.

And he hadn’t lost it all. Not yet.

Considering Derek had been planning on using the sheriff to convince Scott to try this, this situation actually worked out better because it was _Scott_  he needed. And if Scott was on board, that was _perfect_.

He turned toward the other as well, trying to keep calm while he said, “What do you know about the claws of an Alpha?”

Scott shrugged. “They hurt more and cause lasting damage.”

That meant Derek was right, and Scott _didn’t_  know. Which made sense, given it was a born wolf thing.

“They also do one other thing,” he said quietly. “It’s really old, something only born wolves know about, and we don’t exactly share that knowledge. It’s why Deaton wouldn’t have known about it, and wouldn’t have suggested it.”

Frowning, Scott asked, “What is it? This other thing?”

It took Derek a few seconds to gather his thoughts. Not only was this something he’d been told never to share with bitten wolves, but it was also hard to explain. At this point, though, they were out of ideas. They needed to try this. It would work, Derek _knew_  it would work.

“You can... using your claws, you can kind of... _connect_  with him. On a subconscious level.”

“Like-like go inside his mind?” Scott asked, frown deepening.

Derek winced, wishing it was easier to explain. “Kind of. It’s mostly used during times of war, pack disputes, things like that. You can get into an enemy’s head, see memories, push into their minds, things like that. I think with Stiles... He’s trapped in there somewhere. He can’t make it back to where he needs to be. Not without help.”

There was silence for a moment, Scott turning to look out at the Hale house, thinking hard. After some time, he said, “And you think this can help him?”

“You’ve tried everything else,” Derek said quietly. “What’s one more attempt?”

Even as he said it, Derek knew what this would cost Scott. He knew what yet _another_  failure would do, how close he would get to snuffing out that last flame of hope. But this was different. This wasn’t magic, or an attempted exorcism, or any of that other shit. This was a Werewolf, an _Alpha_ , calling out to a member of his pack. Calling him home.

“Scott,” he said, putting as much conviction in his voice as he could, “it’ll work.”

“And if it doesn’t?” he asked quietly, almost sounding afraid.

“It’ll work,” Derek repeated.

They were silent for a long while, and he actually worried that Scott was going to refuse. He didn’t say anything, though. He just shifted the car back into drive and pulled away from the house, resuming the trip towards the outpost.

When they were almost there, just to be sure Scott was _really_  thinking about it, Derek said, “He asked me to kill him.”

He was glad for the seat belt, because Scott slammed on the brakes and turned to him, horrified.

“He _what_?!”

“The Nogitsune... it did something.” Derek thought it best not to explain what it was, even though he was sure the Nogitsune would eagerly tell anyone and everyone it saw, given how horrified Stiles had been. “Stiles was upset. I tried to help, but he just told me he couldn’t do this anymore. He told me he was done, he wanted it to stop.” He turned to look at Scott. “When I first met Stiles, the _real_  Stiles, he spent the whole day in bed and refused to eat. I know the Nogitsune will just pick up the food if Stiles doesn’t, but I think we need to redouble our efforts to get him freed. If we don’t...”

Scott looked pained, but he faced forward and began driving once more. After a moment, he said, “How does it work?”

“What?”

“The claws thing.”

Derek reached for one of Scott’s hands and, despite feeling his hackles rise at doing this to himself, he brought Scott’s fingers to the back of his neck, just beneath his hairline.

“You dig your claws in here. It should be an automatic connection.”

“Can I bring someone with me?” Scott asked, Derek pulling his hand away, and glad he hadn’t bitten Scott’s head off despite the fact he himself had been the one to bring the other’s claws so close to his neck.

“You can, but why?” Derek asked.

“Just in case. In case he doesn’t hear me.”

Derek hadn’t thought of that, but now that it was said, he felt like he would benefit from being there. He doubted he was who Scott was talking about, and figured it would likely be the sheriff, but he still liked to pretend Scott trusted him at least a little bit.

They reached the outpost then, and Derek stared at it. He didn’t want to go in there. He knew it was still the Nogitsune, but what if it pushed Stiles to the forefront the second Derek walked in? It was cruel that way, and he didn’t want to see Stiles upset. Too late, now, but he felt like if he had just never turned around, if he’d just let the Nogitsune have his fun, and Stiles had never come back to Derek staring at him with his hand around his own cock, it might have been okay.

He’d never know now.

“What happened?” Scott asked quietly.

“I’m sure the Nogitsune will happily tell you,” Derek said bitterly, and climbed out of the car.

He and Scott made their way through the first door. When they were moving down the stairs, Derek felt like he was going to be sick. He was _positive_  the Nogitsune was going to push Stiles forward the second he walked through the door.

And he was right.

The moment the second door opened and he stepped in, the Nogitsune’s delighted smile at the sight of him was almost blinding, and Derek felt the pack bond return in the base of his spine. The smile slid off Stiles’ face so fast it would’ve been insulting if Derek hadn’t known how upset he was. The other turned away from him, moving across the small cell, and climbed into bed. He covered his head with his blanket, and didn’t move.

Boyd and Scott both looked at Derek.

Derek himself was surprised Boyd didn’t know.

“It didn’t tell you?” he asked Boyd, moving further into the room.

He shook his head. “It just kept laughing that you’d broken Stiles.”

Boyd not so subtly glanced at the closest wall, which still had dried cum splattered across it. Derek winced, having forgotten it was even there, and he heard Scott inhale sharply beside him. Obviously they could deduce what had happened, but thankfully, neither said a word. That was for the best, given this was Stiles right now, and not the Nogitsune.

“You gonna be okay in here while I talk to the others?” Scott asked Derek.

“I’ll be fine.” Derek wandered over towards the kitchen, pulling open the fridge and beginning to sort through items so he could make a snack. “Just be quick.”

“Sure. Boyd?”

He heard the two of them leave, but said nothing. He didn’t speak to Stiles, either, but he went to the television and turned it on, changing channels until he found one he knew Stiles liked. He turned up the volume, then headed back to the kitchen to continue making something to eat.

Derek knew Stiles wasn’t going to speak to him again. He felt inclined to believe it was because it hurt too much for Stiles to know someone wanted him. Given what he himself knew about what Stiles thought of himself, it was probably a miracle, in his mind, to be desired. And now he was, but could never act on it, because of something that was possessing him.

He didn’t let it bother him. He just made food, despite dinner having been only a few hours ago, and divvyed it up between two plates—one ceramic, one paper, as always. He headed over to the couch to drop his food off, then went to the pocket and opened the outer door. Once it was shut, he glanced up, and waited.

Stiles didn’t move.

“Stiles,” he said softly. “Come get your food.”

Still nothing.

He understood, of course he did. Maybe not entirely, but he knew how this must’ve been for Stiles. He could imagine how upsetting all of this was, and he could sympathise. But he wasn’t willing to let him mope around about it, especially when they could potentially have a fix for this.

“Do you know what first made me fall for you?” Derek asked. He saw Stiles jerk under the covers, but he didn’t move. “It was your passion. You were just so passionate about everything. Didn’t matter if it was a _Star Wars_ book, or food, or even how comfortable your pillow is. You just have an energy that I want to wrap myself in, because it feels warm and safe.”

Stiles pushed the covers off himself and sat up, turning to glare at Derek. His eyes were red and his hair was every which way, but at least he was sitting up.

_“Are you **trying**  to piss me off?”_

“I’m trying to get you to stop moping and come and get your food.”

_“If I do, will you shut up?”_  Stiles snapped, climbing out of bed and moving to the pocket. He bent down and tugged open the door when Derek unlocked it. He pulled the food out, closed it, then stood and turned his back on him. He dropped the food on the table, went back to his bed, and fell down, covering himself with his blanket again.

At least the food was _inside_  the cell.

Sighing and getting back to his feet, Derek went to the couch so he could eat his own food, and hoped Scott hurried with the planning.

Three hours later, while Derek was lying in bed and Stiles had long since fallen asleep, his phone went off.

**[Scott]**  
Tomorrow. Noon.

Derek let his hand holding the phone drop onto his chest and stared at the ceiling, one arm under his head.

Whatever happened, he really hoped his plan worked.

* * *

The Nogitsune was back by morning, and it looked like it suspected they were planning something the second more than five people showed up. It _definitely_  knew when the entire pack showed up. The place was way too small for that many people, but Scott insisted that if this didn’t work, it would be best to have more rather than less people present to stop the Nogitsune from escaping. Derek didn’t think it was necessary, but he didn’t say anything.

No one spoke while people slowly filed in. Some were early, others exactly on time, and others still a little late. Surprisingly, the sheriff fell into the late category, showing up almost fifteen after, clearly unhappy and unwilling to go through yet another failure.

_“Oh, Derek,”_ the Nogitsune said, giving him a sad look. _“What have you done?”_

“I’d be more worried about myself, if I were you,” Malia snarled, but Scott motioned for her to be quiet. Her eyes still glowed blue, but she shut her mouth, growling low in the back of her throat.

_“So many people here, for little old me.”_ The Nogitsune grinned. _“Or for Stiles. Another failed attempt, I take it.”_

“Won’t know until we try,” Derek said.

_“So optimistic. It’s because you haven’t lost what they have.”_ It nodded its head towards the others, then grinned. _“Oh wait, I suppose you have. What’s one more loss to someone who has nothing left to lose?”_

Scott glanced at Derek, as if for his reaction, but all he did was cross his arms.

“The more you take away,” Derek said, “the larger it becomes. What is it?”

The Nogitsune looked delighted at the sudden change of pace, and immediately replied with, _“A hole. What gets wetter the more it dries?”_

“A towel.” Derek began walking slowly around the cell, arms crossed. They needed to get the Nogitsune’s attention away from The Panic Button. Apparently it had once clawed at Stiles’ wrists until they bled when someone had gone for it. It was safer for it not to know it was coming. He and Scott had been texting about this that morning. A way to focus the Nogitsune’s attention on Derek. It seemed to have an obsession with him, anyway, so it worked out. “When is a door not a door?”

_“Why, when it’s ajar.”_ The Nogitsune was following him on the other side of the cell wall, keeping pace.

Derek made sure not to watch Erica, who was right beside The Panic Button, waiting for the Nogitsune’s back to be fully turned.

_“I have a name, but it isn’t my name.”_ The Nogitsune grinned. _“My face shows signs of age. I always mean the same thing, no matter what I say. I’m born in mourning, and I last until the end of days. Men plant me, but I never grow. They run from me, but I never move. They look at me and see their future, rotting in fields where I bloom. What am I?”_

That one was a bit harder, and Derek hadn’t read it online. He honestly wasn’t sure of the answer, but then the sheriff appeared beside him and, in a hard voice, answered.

“A tombstone.”

_“Oh, very good, pops.”_

Derek saw the sheriff flinch at that, but the monster had followed them around one last corner, putting its back to Erica.

_“Your loss, Derek. My turn again.”_ It grinned at him. _“You can see me in water, but I never get wet. What am I?”_

How fitting for that to be the last one.

Derek smiled, all teeth, and leaned forward.

“A reflection.”

Erica slammed her hand on the button.

The Nogitsune turned, face twisted in anger, but the vent had already closed and the Kanima venom had already been released. Even as it tried to turn back to Derek, it was already falling, landing hard with its face smashing against the ground. Derek saw the sheriff turn away when it happened, but everyone else just stood there waiting.

It took a while for the Nogitsune to lose consciousness, but eventually it did and Derek turned away when Scott went to open the door. He still didn’t know where it was, and he didn’t _want_  to know, just in case...

Well, just in case.

Scott and Boyd walked into the room first, pulling Stiles’s body off the ground and sitting it in a chair. The Nogitsune regained consciousness while they were still moving around inside the cell, but the door was shut and it was paralysed from the Kanima venom. It just watched with an unsettling look in its eyes while Scott and Boyd got the cell set up for what they were planning. Once they were done, Derek turned away again while Boyd stepped out and the sheriff stepped inside.

The sheriff took a seat in a chair beside the Nogitsune, and Scott moved behind them.

He glanced at Derek, hesitated, then said, _“You’re sure about this, right? I’m not going to paralyse anyone?”_

_“More than you already have, you mean?”_ the Nogitsune asked coldly. Derek could tell it looked nervous.

“It’s fine,” Derek assured Scott, ignoring the monster. “Trust me.”

_“Trust you?”_ The Nogitsune scoffed. _“No one here even **knows**  you. The elusive Derek Hale, ran away from home after setting his family on fire by falling for the wrong girl.” _

“Scott,” Chris said from the other side of the cell. “Do it.”

Evidently, hearing how the Nogitsune was trying to talk them out of it was enough for them all to trust Derek. Scott took a breath, and then pushed his claws through the skin at the back of both Stilinskis’ necks. The sheriff winced, and then slumped in his seat slightly. Scott’s eyes were closed, and everyone waited, barely daring to breathe. The Nogitsune’s eyes were also closed, eyebrows down in a frown. Its body jerked once, then stilled.

Minutes passed, and after about five or six, the sheriff let out a gasp and jerked out of the chair. Scott pulled his claws out of both of them, wincing slightly, and turned to the sheriff, who’d started pacing, one hand over his mouth and tears in his eyes.

“What happened?” Parrish asked, moving closer to the cell wall. “What did you see?”

_“It was Stiles,”_ Scott said quietly. _“We saw Stiles.”_

The Nogitsune said nothing, but it looked pleased. Clearly, whatever Derek had been hoping hadn’t worked, but he didn’t have enough information yet to know that for sure.

“What happened?” he asked, echoing Parrish’s question, and hoping for a longer answer.

_“We went in, and we saw Stiles,”_ Scott said again. _“He was sitting on the stump of the Nemeton, with... a **thing**.”_ Scott glared at the Nogitsune, who was still smiling pleasantly. _“We tried to reach him, but we couldn’t. We kept running and running. We screamed. He couldn’t hear us.”_

“Maybe he needs someone in there that he _would_  hear,” Deaton said thoughtfully. “Who is there that Stiles would always hear, no matter what?”

“Lydia,” Allison said before Derek could offer himself up. He knew it was stupid to think he would be heard over people like his father, but a part of him was hoping. He’d thought, maybe, that the person Stiles needed was him. He should’ve known better, so he said nothing and just turned away when the others discussed it and finally opened the door to trade out the sheriff for Lydia.

They went through the same motions again, Scott sinking his claws into both Lydia and the Nogitsune’s necks, and then silence. The Nogitsune jerked, same as last time, but Lydia and Scott were gone for less than three minutes. Scott pulled his claws out and Lydia gasped. The Nogitsune looked doubly pleased at a second failure, but Scott and Lydia didn’t look upset. They looked like they’d had a conversation inside Stiles’ head, and had only come out because they needed to discuss it.

Derek stared at them both when they turned to look at him. He looked between them, his arms crossed, then raised both eyebrows.

_“You’re the first person to believe him in years,”_ Lydia said quietly.

The Nogitsune’s head snapped in Derek’s direction, and for the first time since Scott had thrust his claws into its neck, it looked worried.

_“I know what it would mean, having my claws near your neck,”_ Scott said. _“But this is Stiles.”_

Derek glanced at the sheriff, and he looked _so hopeful_. Derek had been hoping for this anyway, so it wasn’t like it took much convincing. He just uncrossed his arms and nodded, though he was annoyed he’d now know where the door was.

He watched Lydia walk towards the pocket, and Isaac unlocked it on the other side. There was a small door the width of the pocket that swung open and Lydia squeezed out. Derek walked around to where the door was and Isaac pressed his lips together. Derek shifted sideways through the small opening and into the cell for the first time.

It felt very uncomfortable, having so many people watching him. He couldn’t imagine how Stiles had survived this for so many years.

He moved towards the chair, the Nogitsune glaring at him, but Derek ignored it and sat in the empty chair, already feeling uncomfortable with Scott behind him.

“Ready?” Scott asked.

“Just do it.”

Derek clenched his eyes shut and tried not to snarl when he felt the claws pierce his neck.

* * *

_Derek’s eyes opened, and he looked around. Scott was standing beside him, and they looked like they were in a large white room. He knew Scott had been there more times than him, so he just watched Derek._

_When he faced forward again, he saw what Scott had been referring to. There was a large humanoid figure sitting on the stump of a large tree—evidently the Nemeton. It was wearing ripped and faded brown cargo pants, and a tattered army jacket. Every inch of visible skin was covered with dirty, frayed bandages, including its torso, hands and face._

_It was sitting in front of what looked to be a board game—the old Chinese game Go, from what Derek could tell—and across from it, in a dark grey T-shirt and blue sweats, was Stiles._

_Both were focussed on the game. After a few seconds, Stiles reached forward and moved a piece._

_“Stiles!” Derek shouted, waving one hand. “Stiles!”_

_“He can’t hear us,” Scott said with a scowl. “We can’t figure out how to get his attention.”_

_Despite knowing the others had already tried, Derek began running forward, trying to close the distance. He felt like he’d been running for close to five minutes, and then stopped. When he turned his head, Scott was still standing right beside him, as if Derek had just been running in place the entire time. He scowled, and turned back to Stiles._

_He reached up one hand, closing it over his stomach, and clenched it in the material of his shirt. The small fire at the base of his spine, the pack bond, was there. It was slight, but it was there. Likely because he was close to Stiles, the **real**  Stiles. They just had to figure out how to get his attention. Derek knew, he **knew**  that if they could just get his attention, this would work. They would separate._

_Stiles always said he didn’t remember where he was, what he was doing. This was it. This was what he and the Nogitsune always did. They played. They played to see who was in control. Whenever Stiles won, he gained control. Whenever the Nogitsune did, it gained control. But if Stiles didn’t even know he was playing, it meant he could never **truly**  win._

_“Wait,” Derek said, the pack bond burning in his spine. He turned to Scott. “What do lost wolves do when they try and signal their pack?”_

_Scott’s eyes turned red and he faced Stiles and the Nogitsune. “They howl.”_

_Derek turned back to Stiles and the Nogitsune as Scott let out a truly awe-inspiring howl, the walls seeming to echo with it. It lasted a good fifteen seconds, and both of them waited once he was done to see if Stiles would turn. Derek held his breath, watching, waiting, but Stiles just reached forward to move another piece._

_“It didn’t work,” Scott said quietly, misery in his voice. “This is the closest we’ve ever come, and he just can’t hear us.”_

_He felt Scott about to pull them away, but Derek grabbed his shoulder, feeling his breathing quicken._

_The pack bond. The one Derek felt with Stiles. It was still there, pulsing, stretching out across the expanse to where Stiles was._

_What if Stiles had stopped being part of Scott’s pack when this had all started? What if, until Derek, Stiles wasn’t in a pack anymore at all?_

_It was unconventional, for a Beta to be in a pack without an Alpha, but it wasn’t **impossible**. He and Stiles were a pack, just the two of them. Derek had just always assumed, until now, that Stiles was still part of Scott’s, too._

_But what if he wasn’t? What if, right now, he was only in **Derek’s**  pack?_

_“Let me try,” Derek said._

_Surprisingly, Scott didn’t scoff or make any rude comments. He just took a step back and Derek released his arm, never taking his eyes off Stiles._

_Letting out a slow breath, and knowing this was truly the last thing they could try, Derek closed his eyes, inhaled, and then shifted into his beta form. Opening bright blue eyes, he bared his fangs and let out the loudest howl his body could force out of him._

_Two seconds later, Stiles’ head shot up, and he turned to look at Derek._

_“Holy shit,” Scott breathed as Derek cut his howl short._

_“Stiles!” Derek screamed at him._

_Stiles stared at them both for a second, then turned to the Nogitsune. He swiped all the pieces off the board, upended it, and then jerked to his feet, leaping off the Nemeton and racing towards Derek._

_Knowing he wouldn’t reach him didn’t stop Derek from doing the same, bursting into a sprint and trying to make it even halfway to him. By the time he thought they’d closed the distance, one hand outstretched to grab at Stiles, Derek was suddenly wrenched backwards by an unseen force, and everything went black._

* * *

“Derek, up! Up!”

Derek was disoriented, but someone was grabbing his arm and pulling him urgently from the chair. Scott was already squeezing his way out of the cell and Parrish was pushing Derek towards the door. He shifted sideways so he could get out, then Parrish followed and shut the door. Turning, Derek looked into the cell to see what had happened.

The Nogitsune was on its hands and knees, and it was vomiting what looked to be bandages. The same bandages that it had been wrapped in inside Stiles’ mind. It was clawing at the white material, trying to yank it out faster even while it continued to vomit. Soon, a large portion of the floor was covered in them, and Derek could see most of the people around him looking horrified or disgusted. Lydia had both hands over her mouth.

Finally, it stopped, the body left coughing roughly. Derek could sense the pack bond forming once more, the small heat in the base of his spine, and he watched the figure inside get shakily to its feet.

Kira let out a scream and everyone jumped and took a step back when a bandage-wrapped hand shot out of the mass of bandages on the floor. It wasn’t thick enough to have a body hidden beneath it, so it was almost like the figure was coming _from_  the bandages. A hand came first, then an arm, and a head and torso, clawing its way out of the pile. The prisoner still in the cell backed away, looking horrified.

“Get him out,” the sheriff said quietly. Then, louder, “Get him out! Get him out now!”

Parrish hastened to open the door and raced into the cell, grabbing the prisoner by the shoulders even as they all kept staring at the bandaged man clawing free from the mess on the floor.

_“Out, hurry!”_ Parrish shoved the other through the opening first, and then followed suit, slamming the door.

Derek frowned, moving forward, closer to the cell wall. He stared when the body finally pulled itself out entirely, coughing and gasping. It got to its knees, bandaged hands clawing at its face, and Derek...

He felt confused.

Because the pack bond he felt was brighter than it had ever been before.

And it was connected to the bandaged man in the cell.

Hands clawed at the bandages on its face until finally they began to tear and pull away. Derek moved around the side of the cell, unable to see its face, pushing people out of his way while keeping his eyes locked on the figure inside. Finally, enough of the bandage was removed and when the figure looked up, Derek felt his stomach bottom out.

Because he was looking at Stiles. At the _real_  Stiles.

And _he_  was the one inside the cell.

“That one’s Stiles!” Derek shouted, pointing into the cell. “That’s Stiles, the other is—!”

There was a scream across the room and Stiles turned in his cell. Derek looked past him out the other side and saw the Nogitsune, still wearing Stiles’ face, standing at the exit. Parrish coughed, blood flowing freely from his mouth, and a hand clear through his stomach from behind.

“It’s been fun, boys and girls, but I’ve got places to be.” The Nogitsune used Parrish’s thumb to unlock the door, and before anyone could stop it, it slipped out and threw Parrish into Boyd and Isaac, who all fell to the ground.

The door slammed behind the retreating monster.

“Get it!” the sheriff shouted, racing for the door. “Code Black! Code Black!” he screamed into his walkie, Scott reaching the door first and unlocking it, the two of them disappearing up the stairs. Half the pack followed suit, Melissa and Lydia staying behind and bent over Parrish.

Stiles just looked horrified and confused, as if not understanding what was happening. Derek raced back around the cell to the door and tried to figure out where the lock was. When he found it, he pressed it and opened the door, motioning him out. The other hesitated at first, as if unsure whether it was truly okay, but then slowly made his way across the room and out of the cell.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked quietly, reaching forward and helping him out of the jacket he was wearing. He started undoing the bandages, unravelling them from around him, but Stiles just kept staring at him like he couldn’t believe his eyes. Derek frowned and paused in what he was doing, reaching up both hands to cup his face. “Stiles?”

“Is it really out?” he whispered, eyes beginning to water. “Did you get it out?”

Derek managed a small smile for him. “Yeah, Stiles. We got it out.”

Stiles turned away from him to stare in at the cell and he lost his footing. Derek grabbed for him, holding him steady, and Stiles braced one bandaged hand against the cell wall. His breathing was laboured and it looked like he was two seconds away from losing his shit, but Derek just shifted his hold on him and hugged him tightly from behind, the other’s heart racing in his chest.

“Stiles, it’s out. I promise you, it’s gone.”

“Derek!” Lydia called from the door. “Derek, we need to get Parrish to a hospital! Now!”

He didn’t want to let go of Stiles. He didn’t want to leave him alone for even a second. But Lydia was right, and he had to help them carry him upstairs. So he tightened his hold on Stiles, then released him and took his bandaged hand instead. He pulled him around the cell quickly, and nodded to Lydia.

“You help Stiles, I’ve got Parrish.”

He didn’t let Stiles go until Lydia had grabbed at him. She was crying and hugging him, and asking if he was okay, but Stiles didn’t reply. He seemed to be in shock.

Derek didn’t blame him.

Bending down beside Melissa, he winced at the horrible gurgling sounds coming out of Parrish while the woman tried to stanch the bleeding.

“If we do not get this man to a hospital now, he is going to die,” she informed him, turning to look at him, worry in her eyes.

“Do you have your car?”

“Upstairs.”

“I’ll carry him up, get the car started.”

Melissa pressed down harder on the wound, then cursed and stood. There was no way for them to keep pressure on it while in the stairwell, it was too narrow. All they could do was hope he made it up the stairs.

Derek hoisted Parrish in his arms and hurried out of the room, Melissa racing up the stairs. The door at the top was still open, likely having been left that way when the others had all run out. Melissa was outside in a moment, and Derek hurried to follow, Parrish in his arms. He rushed to the car, the back door already open, and deposited Parrish inside as carefully as he could. He climbed in after him and pressed down on his wound, not knowing how much good it would do since he had a hole clear through his stomach, and shut the door. Melissa gunned it out of there just as Lydia and Stiles exited the outpost.

He didn’t want to leave Stiles, not now, and Derek couldn’t help but stare out the back window the entire time Melissa drove them away, eyes locked on Stiles until he was finally out of sight.

Facing forward once he couldn’t see him anymore, he pressed down harder on the wound and reached up to place his palm on Parrish’s neck. He winced and let out a grunt when he pulled his pain, feeling it snaking up his arm. It hurt. A lot. But nowhere near as much as he was sure it did for Parrish.

The deputy had reached up to grab at Derek’s shirtsleeve, tugging hard and gasping for air. Derek didn’t know what to do, how to help him. So he just grit his teeth and pulled more of his pain.

They reached the hospital quickly and Derek climbed out and pulled Parrish with him, carrying him towards the emergency doors while Melissa raced ahead. Derek hadn’t even reached them before people were coming out with a gurney, ordering Derek to put him down. He did, and then stood back and watched them wheel him away. His hands and shirt were covered in blood, and he honestly didn’t know if Parrish was going to make it. Did Hellhounds heal like Werewolves? If so, he would be in pain for a while, but he would eventually be fine. If they healed like humans, though...

Derek turned when another car screamed into the lot, and he frowned when Lydia jumped out of the driver’s seat, eyes wild and heartbeat erratic.

“Derek! Something is wrong with Stiles!”

He hadn’t known he could move that fast until he found himself already at the car, wrenching open the back door. Stiles was lying on the back seat, skin pale and eyes sunken. His heartbeat was dangerously slow, and it looked like he was having trouble breathing.

Derek pulled him out of the car, carrying him in his arms, and hurried for the entrance to emergency once more. Lydia was right behind him, and when they pushed through the doors, she shouted for someone to help them. A group of people rushed toward them and froze instantly, eyes wide.

“What are you doing?!” Derek roared.

“That’s the Nogitsune,” one of the doctors said, taking a step back. “What is it doing here?”

“We got it out!” Lydia shrieked. “We got it out, it’s out! This is Stiles! It’s Stiles, _please_! Help him! _Please_!”

Two of the men glanced at one another, but a woman let out a sharp exhale, then rushed forward, pushing at the gurney to get it closer to Stiles. The others were slower to follow, but eventually they crowded around them and got Stiles on a gurney, but this time, Derek followed. They made comments on his heart rate, his pallor, everything that Derek had already ascertained for himself.

When they pushed through a set of doors, one of the doctors told Derek to stay. He bared his teeth at the man, but the doctor just gave him an unimpressed look, told him once more to _stay_ , then disappeared through them. Derek scowled, but obeyed and turned instead to Lydia. She had her phone at her ear, breathing hard and one hand in her long red curls.

“Scott? Scott! Something’s wrong with Stiles! He just collapsed, and he’s pale and sickly looking and—”

“It’s the Nogitsune,” Derek said. He didn’t know how he knew, he just _did_. “It’s still connected to him somehow. It’s pulling power from him. Energy. We need to kill it.”

_“How are we supposed to kill something older than Mrs. Yukimura?!”_ Scott’s voice demanded from the other end. He sounded stressed, and there was a lot of screaming around him. Things were not going well outside. _“Derek, we could **really**  use your help right now!”_

He didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay with Stiles, make sure he was okay, figure out how to help him. But if he didn’t go, if the Nogitsune got away, it would mean the end of him. He would lose Stiles no matter what.

Gritting his teeth, he hurried towards the exit and told Lydia he was taking her car. She didn’t have time to respond, because he was already racing across the lot to it and he threw himself into the driver’s seat. The car was still on, so he just shifted into reverse, turned around, and then sped towards the mayhem. He winced when he passed by a street of stores. Most of them were on fire, and there were a lot of injured parties, people screaming and crying, some covered in blood. He thought he saw a few bodies, too. Unmoving and ignored while people raced for cover.

Derek followed the chaos until he had to slam on the brakes to avoid running over Malia. She was thrown into the air right in front of the car, and slammed through the glass front of a store. Derek leapt out of the car and raced over to her, helping pull her from the broken glass. Her eyes flashed blue and her fangs had dropped. She looked livid, even as her wounds began to heal.

“I hate that son of a bitch.”

“It’s killing Stiles,” Derek told her, the two of them rushing to catch up with the rest of the pack. “It’s sucking the life out of him. We need to kill it.”

“Love to,” Malia snapped as they reached the sheriff, who was tending to a wounded Allison behind an overturned car. “Soon as you figure out how to do that, let us know!”

She jumped onto the car, let out an angry roar, then leapt back into the fight. Derek just crouched down beside Allison and the sheriff. She had an arrow clean through her left side, chest rising and falling rapidly while the sheriff tried to calm her so he could pull it out.

“We need to kill it,” Derek repeated. “It’s not Stiles anymore, didn’t anyone look into how to kill it in case they ever split?”

“Not really,” the sheriff grunted, one hand on Allison’s forehead and the other closing around the arrow. “This is gonna hurt.”

“Just do it,” she bit out, teeth clenched. The sheriff obeyed, yanking it out quickly, and she screamed before cutting herself off and letting out a whimper, lips pressed tightly together and eyes clenched shut.

“There has to be _something_ ,” Derek insisted, ripping a clean piece from the bottom of his shirt and pressing it against the wound in Allison’s side. “A slip-up, a hint, _anything_!”

“Don’t you think if I had any idea on how to stop it, I’d have told someone by now?!” the sheriff shouted, still trying to tend to Allison as best he could while Derek kept pressure against her side. “You’re a Werewolf, why don’t you just go—”

The sheriff cut himself off, then stared at Derek. And he knew. Derek _knew_  he had just thought of something.

“Find Scott,” the sheriff told him urgently, hard set to his shoulders. “Find Scott, and tell him to bite it.”

Derek stared at him. “What?”

“The Nogitsune always said that it couldn’t ever have chosen Scott because of what he is. A Werewolf.”

“So?” Derek asked, confused.

“So what happens when an Alpha Werewolf bites a fox?”

They stared at one another for a few long seconds, then Derek got to his feet and leapt over the overturned car, racing into the chaos to find Scott. He wasn’t easy to find, so many people were out and trying to contain the Nogitsune, including police as well as a few random civilians. All of them seemed to be going for the kill, which suggested the sheriff had made some kind of announcement that this wasn’t Stiles anymore. It was the monster, and _this_  thing, they could kill.

He eventually found Scott near a police cruiser with Noshiko, Kira, Deaton and Chris, all of them talking over each other to try and figure out what to do. Scott’s voice was strident, and stressed, clearly thinking about his best friend dying in the hospital.

“I know how to kill it,” Derek said when he reached them, and they all instantly stopped speaking and turned to him. “The sheriff said Scott has to bite it.”

“What?” Scott asked, but Noshiko straightened, eyes widening.

“That would change the host, which would force the spirit out. Once it’s out, we can trap it, and destroy it.” She turned to Deaton. “Do you have anything we could trap it in? Historically, it took on the form of an insect, so it will likely come out as one, like a fly. Do you have anything strong enough to contain it?”

Deaton had a cut along his forehead, which was bleeding sluggishly, but his eyes were bright and he reached into a satchel he’d brought with him, pulling out a small cylindrical wooden box. He and Noshiko began to speak quickly to one another about what kind of wards needed to be placed on the vessel to hold the Nogitsune. Derek turned to Scott then, the other looking pained.

“It’s not going to let me close enough to bite it,” Scott insisted.

“Not from the front,” Derek agreed. “I’ll distract it. You sneak up from behind.”

“How are you going to do that?” Kira asked, and Derek was startled to see she had a sword in her hand. He hadn’t realised that when he’d first come forward, and he motioned it.

“Get ready to use that once it’s bitten.”

“Derek, _how_  are you going to get its attention?” Scott asked again as Derek began to walk backwards towards the enemy.

“No idea,” Derek informed him, then turned to race into the fight.

* * *

The Nogitsune was on a warpath, laughing hysterically and relishing in all of the chaos and death surrounding it. Every time someone neared it, it sent the person flying. Some people were likely dead, or permanently injured, and the Nogitsune just drank it all in, laughing and spinning in a circle. Derek felt sick looking at it.

It still looked like Stiles, but similar to the one lying in the hospital bed, it had sallow skin and sunken, deep purple racoon eyes. It seemed to be holding up better than Stiles was, but Derek couldn’t help but wonder if they both looked like this because of the fact that they’d been split. If the Nogitsune wanted to keep this form, this host, it had to sacrifice some things it didn’t need.

Like health, for example.

It was probably banking on people hesitating to kill it because it still looked like Stiles.

Derek wasn’t fooled, and when people tried to attack it, he stopped them until it was just the Nogitsune, alone, standing in the middle of the street with its arms out wide. Derek stepped out from behind a store, walking into the centre of the road, eyes locked on the monster. It grinned with Stiles’ mouth, eyes sparkling on Stiles’ face, but it wasn’t Stiles.

Not anymore.

“Man of the hour,” it said, voice like Stiles’, except not. “Come to die?”

“I don’t plan on dying here today,” Derek informed him, walking forward slowly, keeping his eyes locked on the monster. “I have something to live for, now.”

“Some _thing_? Or some _one_?” the Nogitsune asked, smiling widely. It was all teeth. “But didn’t you hear? You failed Stiles, too. Split us apart without thinking of the consequences. He’s going to die soon, you know. Or maybe... maybe he’s already dead.”

Derek felt his hackles rising at the words, but he knew Stiles was alive. The pack bond was still burning. Maybe not as brightly as it had been, and maybe a little weak around the edges, but it was there. Stiles was holding on, he was fighting to stay alive. And Derek wasn’t going to fail him.

Not him. He refused. He’d lost enough. He was done losing people he cared about.

“What is something that you always have,” Derek said, moving forward slowly, “but you always leave behind?”

The Nogitsune grinned, as if pleased they were continuing their game. It spread its hands out wide, eyes sparkling, and said, “Fingerprints. What doesn’t get any wetter, no matter how much rain falls on it?”

The monster was slowly beginning to shift to the side, thinking Derek was trying to distract it. Which he was, just like last time, except this time was different. Because it didn’t matter where the Nogitsune went, Scott was going to be ready.

“Water,” he said. “What never asks questions, but is always answered?” Derek asked, stopping. The Nogitsune did as well, standing in front of the hard brick wall of a store.

“A doorbell.” It grinned. “You always find me in the past. I can be created in the present. But the future can never taint me. What am I?”

Derek found that to be as fitting this time as it had the last, and he smiled slightly just as Scott leapt from the rooftop and landed behind the Nogitsune.

“History.”

Scott grabbed the Nogitsune’s arm, the monster starting at the action, and screamed in horror when the Alpha bit into his exposed forearm, blood dribbling down his chin and hands clenched tightly around its arm. When he pulled away, blood around his mouth, the Nogitsune turned, stumbling away from him, and Kira appeared from the left, swinging her sword with a war cry and stabbing it right through the thing’s chest.

It let out a pitiful gasp of a sound, falling to its knees, and then coughed so roughly it sounded like it was trying to hack up its own lungs. Then, its mouth opened, and what was once a poor imitation of Stiles crumpled to the ground, Kira pulling her sword out. One second, there was a body, and the next, it was a pile of dust.

“Where is it?” Scott asked, nobody breathing. “Where is it, where did it go?!”

Derek whipped around when he heard a loud ‘crack,’ and found Deaton standing a few feet away, holding the cylindrical box, one hand having slapped the lid on. He looked up at them all, slowly screwing it in place, and then smiled while nodding.

“It’s over,” Kira said, shock in her tone. “It’s over, it’s gone. The Nogitsune... and Stiles... it’s all...”

“Stiles!” Derek turned and raced back for the car, leaping over various injured parties and jumping onto hoods of cars that were in his way. He passed where the sheriff had previously parked his cruiser and found it gone. He’d probably gone to the hospital with Allison. He was likely going to check on his son.

Derek found Lydia’s car where he’d left it and hurried behind the wheel. He burned rubber on his way back to the hospital, and knew that the only reason no one stopped him for speeding was because all the cops he passed were heading to various areas for more serious matters. He was thankful, because he probably wouldn’t have stopped, and would’ve either gotten chased all the way to the hospital, or shot at the second he stopped the car.

He reached the same entrance he’d taken the car from and tried to park it out of the way given all the injured who would be coming in. Melissa’s car was still sitting with two doors wide open just on the other side of where he’d parked.

Derek leapt from the car and raced through the doors, looking around until he found a nurse’s station.

He stopped in front of her, and hadn’t even opened his mouth when the woman smiled and said, “He’s fine. Room 312. His father is with him.”

Derek had no idea how she’d known, but figured either Lydia or Melissa had told her about him. He didn’t stop to dwell on it, he just turned and ran for the stairs, climbing them two at a time. When he burst through the door on the third floor, his eyes passed over all the numbers while someone snapped at him not to run. He ignored them and just kept glancing at the room numbers until he stopped in an open doorway, heart in his throat and eyes on the figure in the bed.

Stiles was sitting up, face buried in his dad’s neck while he hugged him tightly, the older man holding him just as hard. They were both crying, the salty scent of tears reaching Derek, but all he could smell was relief. Joy and love and just so much fucking relief.

Derek stood there watching them, not sure what to do, because this was something the sheriff had been waiting for for _five years_. Derek had only known Stiles for a few months, and somehow, it seemed intrusive. It felt wrong for him to step foot into the room, when so many other people had been waiting much longer for this.

He didn’t end up making a decision on what to do, because Stiles lifted his head, as if sensing him there, and he pulled away from his dad, smiling at Derek. The sheriff turned, still keeping a grip on his son, and his eyes were red and wet. He motioned Derek forward, and the man awkwardly stepped into the room. When he neared the bed, the sheriff grabbed his arm in a grip so tight it would’ve hurt a normal person.

“You did it. You told me you could do it, but I didn’t think—” He cut himself off, voice strained. “ _Thank you_.”

Derek managed a small smile for him, then shifted his gaze to Stiles. His eyes were just as red and wet, but he had a brilliant grin on his face. He reached out one hand, a hospital band around it, and waited for Derek to take it. Slowly, he raised one hand and closed it around Stiles’, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and staring at him. It was crazy to realise that this was _him_. It was _Stiles_. Not just some of the time, but _all_  of the time.

“Hey Derek,” Stiles said quietly.

“Hi Stiles.”

The other grinned, then turned to his father. “Dad, can you give us a minute? Just one? Please?”

It looked like Stiles had just asked the sheriff to shoot him. “You’re joking, right?”

“I haven’t been myself in five years, and I’ve literally never kissed someone before, and it’d be really great if I didn’t have an audience for it.”

The sheriff frowned, looked at Derek—as if about to ask who Stiles was planning on kissing—and then it seemed to click. His gaze shot back to his son, who was now fighting a flush that was slowly creeping up his neck, and he cleared his throat before standing.

“I’m right outside that door. You have thirty seconds. I’m coming back in here whether you’re done or not.”

“That’s fair,” Stiles said with a smile, watching his father turn to head for the door. He closed it, but only a little, and Derek saw the man’s back to the opening.

He looked back at Stiles, who seemed nervous, now.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have... assumed.” He winced. “Um, it’s just, because of what you said, and what it said to you about me, and all the—”

Derek shifted closer, brought his free hand to Stiles’ cheek, and leaned forward, pressing his lips against his. Stiles’ own free hand came up to clench in the front of Derek’s shirt, which was still covered in dry blood, but he didn’t seem to care. Stiles’ lips parted and Derek pushed his tongue into his mouth, pressing closer, trying to devour him.

He hadn’t known how much he cared for Stiles until the day he’d asked him to kill him. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but had only been two days, tops. It was crazy for him to imagine a world where Stiles didn’t exist.

“Okay,” a voice said, Derek pulling away but keeping his hand on Stiles’ cheek and the other closed around his. “Time’s up.”

The sheriff groaned while sitting in his chair again, and he reached out to take Stiles’ free hand. Derek leaned back, dropping the one from his face, and shifted away slightly so the sheriff had more room.

“That felt entirely too short, are you sure?” Stiles asked, squinting at his father.

“You’re lucky I left you alone at all, I might handcuff you to me for the _next_  five years just so you stay out of trouble!”

Stiles laughed, and it was so full of happiness, and delight, and so, so wonderful. Derek loved listening to it.

His head shot to the door when someone practically slammed into it, and Scott stared in at him, eyes wide and breathing ragged.

“Stiles,” he said, voice broken, and when Stiles looked at him, the waterworks started.

Derek moved out of the way so that the two of them could hug and cry and talk over each other. He didn’t want to go far, but he knew the room would be full soon, so he just moved out into the corridor and lingered by the door. Melissa was there, looking through the window and smiling, both hands together as if in prayer and pressed against her mouth.

“You did it,” she whispered to Derek, eyes still on her son and Stiles. “You actually did it.”

“It was a team effort,” Derek insisted, standing beside her and shoving his hands into his pockets while they both watched the scene unfold in front of them. “How’s Allison?”

“In pain, but she’ll be fine.”

“And Parrish?”

Melissa turned to him, letting her hands drop, and still smiled. “He’s going to need some time in the hospital, but he’s going to be all right. The wound already started healing while he was on the table, and while it’ll take longer than it would for you or Scott or any of the other Werewolves, he’s going to be fine.”

That was good to hear. Derek liked Parrish. He was a bit of an asshole sometimes, but Derek knew he was, too. Parrish was a good guy.

When they heard more footsteps racing through the halls, Derek and Melissa both turned. It looked like the whole pack was trying to beat each other to the room. Derek grabbed at Melissa’s arm and quickly pulled her to the other side of the door, so that they were past it and not before it. That ended up being a good idea, since most of the bodies crashed into each other to get through the door. The wolves snarled and snapped at each other to get through first, but eventually they all made it inside. Noshiko and Deaton had taken up the rear at a more reasonable pace.

“Where’s Chris?” Derek asked.

“He went to see his daughter,” Noshiko informed him, which made sense.

“Lydia is with her, too,” Melissa said, the two of them moving back to the window, standing with Noshiko and Deaton. “She got to speak to Stiles before the sheriff arrived, and she knew most people would be here with him. She didn’t want Allison to be alone.”

“She will be okay?” Deaton asked, looking at her.

Melissa nodded, and said, “Parrish, too.”

“That’s a relief.” The Druid smiled, and turned to the window once more.

“What about the Nogitsune?” Melissa asked.

“It has been dealt with,” Deaton said cryptically. “It won’t bother anyone again.”

They all stood outside, staring in at the group. They were all shouting and laughing, taking turns hugging Stiles, touching him, scenting him. It was like a small party in the room, but nobody on the floor seemed to mind. Most people who passed were smiling, looking happy and relieved, like a huge weight had been lifted from their shoulders.

Derek frowned at that realisation. “The Supernatural world will know,” he said. “They’ll start coming again.”

“They will,” Deaton agreed. “But we’ve dealt with them before. We’ll be ready.” He turned to Derek, smiling mysteriously. “I hear Mr. Argent has struck a deal with Hunters who came through here a few days ago. If they left without harming any of the pack here, they would get to keep their heads.”

“Yes, he was quite violent in his insistence that no wolves be harmed on this land.” Noshiko turned to smile at Derek, as well. “Something about earning forgiveness for a past wrong.”

Derek said nothing, but he knew what they were talking about. The Hunters that had been after Derek because he was a Hale. Chris had obviously said something, or done something so that they would leave him alone. So that he could stay in Beacon Hills, and be safe. He could live here again, stay with the pack.

Stay with Stiles.

The man in the bed was laughing and hugging people, but every now and then, his eyes shot towards the window, as if to make sure Derek was still there, and the little flame at the base of Derek’s spine burned hot like liquid fire.

Because maybe now that he was back, Stiles was part of Scott’s pack, to a degree, but he and Derek were their own pack, too. They were a Human and a Beta Werewolf, with no Alpha, bound together in one pack. Stiles seemed content with that, and Derek definitely wasn’t complaining.

Because he loved him. He loved him, and he wanted to spend more time with him, get to know him the _proper_  way, have real conversations with him. It would be long and hard for a while, Stiles still feeling the effects of the Nogitsune, still too afraid to _truly_  know someone, but it would pass in time. He would recover in time.

He would be comfortable again in his own skin. And Derek would wait for him until then.

_This_  was the Stiles he’d been speaking to all those weeks. _This_  was who he’d started falling for.

And _this_  was what he would give his life to protect. He was never letting it go.

**END.**

**Author's Note:**

> Guardians of the Galaxy (c) Marvel  
> Star Wars (c) George Lucas  
> Harry Potter (c) J.K. Rowling  
> Firefly (c) Joss Whedon  
> All riddles were either from the show, or from https://www.riddles.com/
> 
> Additional tags - Didn't really know how to tag this overall without explaining it. The Nogitsune is in control of Stiles, and he jerks off in front of Derek when he knows Stiles likes him. Tagged voyeurism for this, but not really sure of the official tag so putting it as a warning in case, I guess.   
> Stiles also asks Derek to kill him; he doesn't, but it gets asked. I don't know if that's a trigger for anyone so mentioning it here.


End file.
